Fluffy Ficlets
by Ginger-Holmes-Jones
Summary: A collection of Johnlock stories based on one word prompts. Fluff. Implied innuendo. Swearing, but warning are on the chapters. Please leave suggestions for a prompt, I really do love your ideas. P.S Chapter 5 - out of 24 - is all angst and drama so you have been warned! R&R's will be repaid with love :3 (Cover image drawn by bilbochan on Tumblr)
1. Boundaries

Hello there :) This is just the first little ficlet from one word prompts that I intend to write. More Johnlock fluff later on. Enjoy :D

* * *

**Boundaries**

Boundaries. One thing Sherlock's vast mind could not comprehend, social boundaries. He always invaded people's personal lives, it was his job after all. This was true more so with John. Most people would say that Sherlock is bad with physical contact and personal space, then again, most people don't know Sherlock like John does. Truth be told, Sherlock is fine with being close to John. He often practically sits on John when he is on the sofa. Sherlock has no quarrel with walking into John's room when he is in there, without knocking, despite now knowing that John doesn't sleep in many items of clothing either. To Sherlock, boundaries are non-existent.

* * *

**_Sherlock_**

John was blogging. Again. He's _always _blogging. What he is writing about, I don't know. I can only hope it's not any more of our cases, he always gives them stupid names, and makes me sound like Poirot. I had to put an end to this.

"Ouch!" John yelped, as I sat myself down on his legs.

"Hello John." I replied.

He glared at me."Sherlock! Get off of my legs, your arse is unbelievably bony."

"Make me," I smiled "shut your laptop down and make me."

John rolled his eyes. "This is really how you get me to stop writing?"

I nodded. "Of course."

He sighed, and a few moments later his laptop was on the floor. I had gotten up so John could move his legs and then sat back down next to him.

"See? Isn't this much nicer than blogging?" I asked as I began re-arranging my nicotine patches.

"No." John stated as he got up and headed to the kitchen.

"Two sugars."

John stopped his journey momentarily. "I wasn't making tea."

"Yes you were."

He sighed again. Shortly after I was curled up on the opposite side of the sofa from him, sipping tea. He was doing the same. I must remember to sit on John more often.


	2. Window

Hello again :) Actual fluffy-ness this chapter, John goes on a date but it does not end according to plan.

* * *

**Window**

Sherlock spent a lot of time in the window nowadays. He liked it there. He could see the outside world, the passersby, the people who never thought to look up. He could practice his skills of observation on them if he so wished. Mainly though, Sherlock spent his time in the window waiting for John. Whenever he was at work, Sherlock watched him leave and waited for him to return. Whenever he went to buy milk or jam, Sherlock would wait. Whenever John went out for the night, Sherlock would wait. It was a compulsion now, he tried not to think anything of it. He didn't _want _to think anything of it, because when he did, he did not like what he was finding.

* * *

_**John**_

This date is boring. So bloody boring. I don't even know what she's saying any more, still rambling on about her dog probably. Eurgh, I'm being bitter, there's nothing wrong with the girl. Pretty, smart, kind, I don't know why but there's nothing here. No chemistry. She's so... normal? What did that even mean? I didn't want to be around here anymore. Hmm, I should offer to walk her home. She was only around the corner anyway.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

John had been gone two hours, twelve minutes and twenty six seconds. I missed him. When he was here I had no urge to pay him much attention but the second he left... it's different. Especially since he's on a date. With a _woman_. Why did that annoy me? Not even annoy, it... upsets me. I don't get upset. This doesn't make sense. None of it does. It's madness. I sighed and pressed my head to the cold window. I needed to work this out.

* * *

_**John**_

"I, err, I think it's getting kind of late. I have to be in the clinic in the morning. It's been a lovely evening though, would you like me to walk you home?" I asked her.

"Oh... well, yes, okay then." She smiled and got up from her chair as I did the same. She linked my arm as we began walking down the street. It felt weird, wrong even, like I shouldn't be doing it. This girl was clearly out of my league, but I didn't want her, not at all. I sighed. I must be going senile.

"What's wrong?" She asked, flitting her eyelashes at me.

"Oh, nothing, it's just a headache." I lied and patted her arm, she was very sweet.

"Aww, John," she paused as we began walking past my lodgings. "you just go in then, I can walk the last five minutes alone." So caring, and I _still _didn't want her.

I smiled still. "Thank you... Goodnight then."

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

Finally, John was back. His date was with him though. I squinted through the glass at her, early thirties, a receptionist of some sort judging by her wrists, she had a dog too I noted. She looked reasonably happy, John however looked uncomfortable if anything. Something wasn't right.

* * *

_**John**_

We both hovered awkwardly for a moment. After what seemed like forever she leaned in to kiss me, without thinking, I pulled away.

She stared at me. "What was that about?!"

"I... err, you're a nice girl, but err... I don't think this is going to work." I stammered.

Her stare became a glare. "Men!" She slapped me, surprisingly hard across the face, before stomping off in her heels. I blinked a few times, watching her go, before turning around and began dragging myself up the stairs to 221B.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

She had just HIT John. Her, that slattern, had just hurt John. _My _John. My best friend John, the army medic, the Detective-

John had entered the apartment and had seen me by the window.

-The man who knew that I'd been watching him.

He looked embarrassed, but the pink mark on his cheek was still visible, and he began taking off his coat. I was overwhelmed with feelings. _Feelings_. The word was unfamiliar to me, and I found it hard to decipher one emotion from the other. Protectiveness, anger, care, hurt, and something else much stronger but much harder to put a name to. This was too confusing. So I did my best to stop thinking.

* * *

_**John**_

I'd barely gotten my coat off before Sherlock had his arms around me. My heart stopped. What was he doing? Why? Sherlock didn't really... hug. His arms wrapped tighter around me and squeezed, his head burying in the nook of my neck. I hugged him back, not feeling awkward as to how my head was pressed against his chest. I inhaled, his comforting scent relaxing me. He stroked my hair, before kissing my neck. My breath hitched in my throat, and Sherlock tensed, probably thinking he'd done something wrong. He hadn't. He'd done exactly the right thing that I'd never have had the courage to do. So I hugged him tighter reassuringly, and kissed his chest. That is how we stayed for the next few moments: In each other's arms, hands on each other, breathing slowly. Eventually, Sherlock pulled away, he smiled at me.

"I thought we weren't a couple."

I smirked back. "And I thought you were married to your work."

Sherlock shrugged and pulled me back into his embrace. "But you are what makes me want to work."


	3. Giggle

Hey :D It's drunk texting time! Yay!

* * *

**Giggle**

John didn't giggle. Sherlock didn't giggle. That was how it worked. How most men, especially them, worked. Recently, however, it was happening more and more frequently. Sherlock got annoyed at a cross word and threw it at the wall, John giggled. John accidentally got a milk moustache and didn't notice, Sherlock giggled. There was one thing though which Sherlock always giggled at the most, drunk texting. John still went out with his friends on occasion, and Sherlock trusted him enough to know it wasn't with women, so every now and again Sherlock would have an evening to himself whilst John went and got drunk with his old friends. Although Sherlock did sometimes worry about John when he was in this state, he knew John always managed to get himself home, Sherlock ensured it.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

John would be slightly tipsy by now, I knew. I should be receiving a text anytime now.

_Hi Sherlock – JW_

Hmm, that was surprisingly (and admittedly disappointingly) logical.

_Have yo seen m keys? – JW_

There we go.

_No John, I have not. Did you take them out with you? – SH_

_Doest mater found em – JW_

_Where were they then? – SH_

_I was holdin em – JW_

_Oh dear. Please do try not to lose them. - SH_

_Since wen do yu call me dear? – JW_

_I didn't mean it like that. Would you like me to call you Dear? – SH_

_Go on then cupcake – JW_

I couldn't help but let out a childish giggle.

_Don't call me cupcake. – SH_

_But cupcake its ur nam – JW_

_No it isn't. I don't even like cupcakes. – SH_

_Oka then kitten – JW_

_Don't call me kitten. – SH_

_Fine honey bear – JW_

_You're drunk. Stop calling me drunk names. – SH_

_But i love yo puddn xxx – JW_

I smiled, he was so stupidly sweet when he was like this.

_I love you too John. – SH_

_No kises? :( - JW_

_...Love you too Dear X – SH_

_:((((( - JW_

_Xxxxx – SH_

_:* bak soon cupcake – JW_

I put my phone down. He was going to love re-reading his texts tomorrow morning.


	4. Scar

Greetings again :D The prompt word here was "scar", and who doesn't get a little body-conscious every now and again? Enjoy!

* * *

**Scar**

There are two kinds of scars, emotional and physical. Sherlock and John both had more than their fair share of both. John was at war with another country. Sherlock at war with crime. There were always going to be repercussions.

* * *

_**John**_

I had just gotten out the shower and happened to catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I never really look in the mirror, never felt a need to, I'm hardly vain. This time though, it was different. Maybe it was because I was in a relationship now, more self conscious or whatever, I don't know. I looked at myself. What did Sherlock see? I could clearly see the mark on my shoulder, the ghastly, jagged, mark that was scrawled across it. It was unsightly to say the least. All over I began to notice little marks, scratches, scars, bruises. Why am I always bruised? I'm like a peach or something. They really didn't look good against my skin, so red, they stuck out a mile.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

John's been in the bathroom a while. I heard him turn the shower off and he hasn't done anything since, I hope he's okay. Probably is. I'm most likely worrying over nothing. Instead I got up and went into the bedroom to get changed. As I stripped and began pulling on a fresh shirt by fingers brushed against a mark on my rib cage, a little scar trailing down a few ribs. I sighed. I don't even know how long that one has been there. I looked over the rest of myself quickly, realising I hadn't been keeping a very close watch on damage. I found multiple scars. Some I was aware of: The knife one along my back, a couple from bad falls over the years, the teeth mark one from a rather psychotic criminal. There were some that were new to me, however. They were everywhere. I was coated in them. These unpleasant little marks speckled all over my skin, contrasting excessively with the paleness of my skin.

That evening was a rather awkward one. With both men having a recently discovered sense of self-consciousness, neither was brimming with enthusiasm. Sherlock's self-confidence was damaged, his ego feeling severely deflated, John meant the world to him. What if he really thought the scars to be grisly? John was having similar thoughts. Nobody LIKES scars. So why should Sherlock? The normally natural process of changing in front of one another and going to bed became uneasy.

* * *

_**John**_

God, I was being like a teenage girl. Sherlock's seen me naked before. It's not a problem. He would've said something if he didn't like me. Wouldn't he? Then again he might just be being polite. This is ridiculous. Since when do I care about how I look? It's stupid. I'm sure Sherlock loves me scars and all... maybe.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

John seemed as uneasy as I did. Normally I'd investigate into why, today though, I already had a theory as to why. He had probably noticed how I was acting around him and gotten upset. It isn't his fault though, I don't want him to be upset. It's just hurtful imagining that John isn't attracted to me. Not surprising. John could easily do better, and probably had. All I wanted to do was hug him, but not if he secretly just too civilised to say anything.

* * *

_**John**_

Sherlock definitely wasn't right. I didn't like it when he was like this. All withdrawn. I hated it. I hated myself for being so stupid and not noticing sooner, being too caught up with worrying how I looked. I wouldn't be shocked if he didn't like me, I wouldn't like me if I had to date me. I sighed and looked over to my partner, he was already looking at me. His normally unrevealing eyes pained. I was suddenly very aware that I didn't care about how I looked, I loved him, and his sadness always came first.

"Why are you sad?" I asked, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him closer.

Sherlock swallowed. "There's nothing the matter, you however, have been keeping something from me all day. Tell me." He put his arms around me.

"It's stupid, and unimportant." I replied as I stroked his side with my fingers.

"It isn't if it's something you're feeling." He studied me closely.

I sighed. I was sick of feeling this ridiculous. "Do you... err... are you attracted to me? Like... physically?" I avoided Sherlock's gaze.

"John..." he moved his hand to raise my face back up to look at him. "you were really worried about that?"

I nodded, feeling foolish.

He smiled. "That's so sweet. John, you are easily the most beautiful man that I have ever seen."

I blushed, and felt even more like a teenage girl.

"I mean that. You are truly beautiful." He smiled and kissed me. "Feel better?"

"Much." I replied, pulling him closer and nuzzling into his neck. "Now tell me why you were sad really."

"Same reason as you." He mumbled into my hair.

I laughed and it was his turn to blush. "I love you, and every part of you is breathtaking."

Sherlock giggled. "We are so clichéd."

"I know. It's brilliant." I smiled into his neck.

Sleeping that night was much easier than usual, and it didn't take either of us very long to drift off. It was reassuring to know that he felt the same way I did, even over something stupid. Sometimes it was comforting for Sherlock to confirm that he was in fact human, and that he would allow me to see his human side. I knew I was the only person allowed to see that part of him, and I loved him for it.


	5. Run

Hi, this one's a bit angst-y. So sad! This is what happens when you combine love with war.

* * *

**Run**

_**John**_

Running. Always with the fucking running. My legs pumped and my muscles ached with all the running. I could feel how fast my heart was beating, hammering against my chest. I couldn't see where the guy had gone, I couldn't even recall who he was, I just remember the plan. I chased him through the trees, alongside the large river. Sherlock comes out the other side of a set area and gets him. Simple. Easy. Well, it would be if he didn't run so bloody fast. We began to approach the designated tree area in the forest, I was running on adrenalin alone, but as we got closer I began to realise something was horribly wrong. The man I was chasing suddenly turned around and looked at me. I slowed to a stop, looking around. Where was Sherlock? Why was he stopping? The man smiled at me and I felt myself shiver. He stepped towards me and I automatically stepped backwards.

"Don't move." He growled as he grabbed me and yanked me forward, pressing a gun seemingly from nowhere against my temple and bending my arm painfully against my back. It was then that I discovered where Sherlock was. Emerging from a thicker growth of trees came a group of five, large, muscular men. One of whom had Sherlock's arm twisted against his back and was leading him forward, another was pointing a gun at him lazily. One of the unoccupied men from the group strolled over and pointed his gun at me too.

"Lower it, just hold him in place." He instructed to the man behind me, who obeyed with a little grumble about not liking being ordered around. I panicked. Sherlock looked scared. Everything about that sentence was wrong, Sherlock doesn't get scared, he's never frightened. Never. I smiled at him, trying to be reassuring, only to receive a smash around the back of my head from the butt of the large man's gun. I yelped in pain, and glared at him, but I could feel the blood trickling down my head and neck and knew to not try to communicate with Sherlock in any way. Sherlock was shooting daggers and clenching his jaw at my attacker, it would have been a sweet moment, had we not both been in the hands of criminals.

"Right, now this is how's it's going to work. You tell me what I want to know and nobody gets hurt. Got it?" Said one of the two men who weren't doing anything.

I grunted a response. Sherlock muttered a "yes".

"Good. Now then... you." He pointed at me, the man behind me laughed. "Where is Michael Exley?" I thought back. He was one of the witnesses involved in our case, a fourteen year old boy; he had been taken into Witness Protection, and I did indeed know where he was.

"I don't know." I said as calmly as possible. He looked at me sceptically before looking to the last man with nothing to do left. "Shoot him in the foot." Sherlock and I both went wide eyed at the same time. Sherlock looked as if he was about to say something before the man stuttered.

"But, err, Sir? I don't mean to... err... but nobody has seen Michael for weeks. He probably doesn't know, it's err... a waste to shoot him." I could feel the man behind me nodding in agreement.

The man in charge glared at the outspoken one. "A waste?" He brought his gun up quickly and shot his contradictor in between his eyes. I flinched as the gun went off, blood splattered all around him, and his lifeless body fell to the floor. I stared at it incredulously.

He looked back to me. "Now then, I'll ask again. Where is Michael Exley?" I did my best to maintain eye contact with the man and stop my voice from wavering.

"I don't know." He stared at me for a few more moments before raising his gun.

Sherlock thrashed against the man holding him. "Stop! He doesn't know!" The man holding Sherlock pushed down on his arm, and there was a sickening snap. Sherlock let out a loud cry of pain as I could clearly see that his arm was broken, the bone had torn through the skin and was visible. He slumped to his knees, so the man held him there instead. I made a strange whimpering noise as I watched him, one I didn't even know I was making until I realised my lips were moving. The man in charge laughed.

"Disobey me and get hurt. I made that clear. Although, I have come to the conclusion that you actually do not know the whereabouts of Michael. So let's continue with the questions. Now for my knife, do not pretend that you are unaware of what I am speaking of, that knife is of great value and I shall need it back. Where is it being held and which of the investigators took it?" Easy. Lestrade took it to be analysed for blood samples. I watched Sherlock twitching still.

"I don't know." I muttered. I heard the man behind me sigh.

"Look, Steve, these guys clearly have no information and th-" He got no further as the man in charge shouted.

"STEVE?! You do not call me Steve you stupid, little bastard!" The man in charge, Steve, moved his gun from aiming at me to aiming at him and fired. I felt the man behind me move, but he did not fall. There was a split second of confusion before I registered what had happened and looked down. Oh. A searing heat suddenly shot through my body as I saw the hole in the side of my stomach, it was gushing blood. The man behind me had moved and I stumbled backwards, tripping, and I felt myself fall into the river. The murky water washed over me as the agony took over my brain, and I heard Sherlock scream, before the darkness engulfed me.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

The edge of my vision reddened. The man that had been holding John was fleeing from his enraged boss, and the men holding me were looking at each other uncertainly. I tugged away with force, the pain of yanking on my broken arm made the world go black, but only for a second. I pulled myself up and ran to the edge of the river. The blood was tinted with misty red, but it was too unclear to locate John. "John!" I screamed frantically, skimming over the water for any sign of his body, I had to save him, broken arm or not I had to save him. I could hear the men squabbling behind me as I pulled my phone out of my pocket quickly, dialling Lestrade and rambling to him to get paramedics and police. The call was over in fifteen seconds. I heard one of them men behind me saying about the police coming, and stopping me, but it was too late. I had already plunged into the river after John.

* * *

_**John**_

It was peculiar, dying. I expected my whole life to flash before my eyes but it didn't. I was just sinking. Freezing from the cold and loss of blood. I was a Doctor, I knew very well that this was killing me, but I didn't have the power to stop it. I just hoped that Sherlock was okay up there. Oh, Sherlock. I missed him already. Missing him added to the pain. It would all be over soon though.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

I swam, searching, for what seemed like forever; but then I saw him. Near the bottom of the river looking like a manikin, blood streaming into the water. I swam down as fast as possible and wrapped my working arm around him, pulling him up. I could then only kick with my legs for power, and my lungs were burning for oxygen. John's weight pulled me down but I powered on. Eventually we reached the top of the lake and I gasped for air, leading John over to the side and pushing him out. I climbed out myself afterward and dragged John properly onto the banks. I immediately started performing CPR. Nothing. Nothing was happening.

"Come on John, please, please John, don't die, come on." I muttered, pumping his chest. There was a slight flutter of his eyelids and he spluttered, water began to come from his mouth and I sat him up to help drain it away.

"Come on John, you've survived worse, stay with me." I pleaded as I took my coat off and held it to his wound. "Lestrade and the paramedics will get here soon, you're going to be fine."

He laughed weakly, clearly fading in and out of consciousness. "Fine?"

"Yes, yes, fine." I repeated, looking over him, clutching him to me and kissing him. "Please John, don't die, be fine, be fine for me."

"I'm trying." He wheezed. "Sherlock... Sherlock, I love you."

Tears began rolling down my cheeks. "I love you too John, but it's okay, we have the rest of our lives together, I'll love you forever."

"Don't cry Sherlock, please." He muttered as my tears dripped on his closed eyes.

"I'm trying."

He smiled. "Try harder." I laughed in between sobs and kissed him again, holding him to me tighter. His body seemed to go a bit limper, I looked down at his face, and it was still.

"...John?" I sniffed.

John was sleeping.


	6. Nurture

Hello. Sorry about the delay, I've been busy. This word was "Nurture". Enjoy :D

* * *

**Nurture**

Doctor John Watson was good at nurturing, it was his profession in the end. Sherlock is not. Sherlock has never had to nurture anyone or anything, therefore he wasn't entirely sure how, consequently he was working on instinct and emotion. Neither of which he was entirely familiar with.

* * *

**_Sherlock_**

I vaguely recall John quoting something along the lines of "All you need is love" one time, of course I didn't pay much attention to it at the time, far too busy storing important things in my mind palace. I had enough time to think about it now though. John had indeed survived. Thankfully. Only just about though. Still, I was grateful for it. It was strange, however, being his Doctor; looking after him as opposed to the other way around. John kept telling me that the Nurses wouldn't have let him out of the hospital if he needed intensive care, but he had been through an extortionate amount. He still needs help. Even if he insists that he doesn't.

* * *

**_John_**

It was obvious that Sherlock was not cut out for the medical profession, He was trying, bless him, but it was clear to anyone that he really didn't know what he was doing. I've told him to stop faffing but he won't listen.

"Do you want anything, John?" He asked me from the kitchen.

I craned my neck from my lying position on the sofa to look at him. "...No thanks. What are you making?"

Sherlock turned around and smiled at me. "Tea." He continued messing with objects on the counter.

"You know Sherlock, that really isn't a good idea." I stated.

"Why ever not?" He called back over the racket he was making.

"Your arm is snapped in two places. We shall live without tea. Sit down." It was times like this I wish I could just get up to tell him, but I had been instructed to rest, and it was admittedly entertaining watching him fluster.

"I'm fine making _tea_ one handed! It's hardly complicated." He shouted back as I heard the kettle ping with dread.

"Neither is buttoning your shirt but you need me to do that now, leave the boiling water alone Sherlock!" I stretched for my walking stick but it was annoyingly about a centimetre out of my reach.

Sherlock continued creating worrying noises as I struggled for my stick. "Honestly John, have some faith in me, this is not difficult and I fail to see why y-" Sherlock had turned around to see what my strenuous grunts were about, and in the process managed to knock just about everything off of the side. It clattered to the floor with a roar of metal, plastic, glass and other things smashing and hitting each other. We both stopped perfectly still, looking at the mess. I looked up to Sherlock, his face a comical mix of shock and embarrassment; I gave him a sympathetic smile, with a hint of "I told you so" in return.

Sherlock sighed. "I don't think I can make tea one handed John."

I shook my head. "I don't think you can either," I patted next to me on the sofa with my hand. "I'd appreciate you more down here."

Sherlock still looked grumpy at his mistake, but I could sense the smile that was trying to escape as he came and perched himself next to me, sitting upright.

"Sherlock, I'm lying lengthways, you can't sit there."

"But you literally ju-" He stopped and his mouth formed a little "o" as he realised what I meant. He lay down next to me on the sofa, rather cosy considering how small it was. Sherlock looked awkward as he tried to not lay on me, presumably because he didn't want to cause me pain.

"I'm not made of paper you nonce." I said as I pulled him closer, putting my arm around him as he put his (the best he could, having little control of it right now) over me. He laughed as a response and rested his head next to mine. We stayed like that for what seemed like ages, looking into each other's eyes like teenagers, but in reality it could only have been a few minutes. At that moment the door opened and a flushed Mrs Hudson flapped in. Sherlock and I both looked up at her, awkwardly hugging.

"Don't mind me boys, I heard a smash and I thought to myself _I bet that's Sherlock trying to do things with just one arm again, he'll never learn that he can't do everything, and then he'll only get annoyed and forget to clean it up-"_ Mrs Hudson trailed off on a little chunter, but I knew it was only because she cared about us... and that state of her flat. We went back to lying on the sofa hugging as Mrs Hudson went about her cleaning, I did feel bad about it, but I'd make sure to make it up to her when we were fully recovered. After all, Mrs Hudson is what I'd call "Our Mum away from Mum."


	7. Dream

Helloooooooooooo :D Yes, the prompt word is indeed "dream". The first prompt I was given was "Latex" so this was very close to becoming smutty ;) Hehehe, anyway, as ever: Enjoy. Just a short one.

* * *

**Dream**

Everybody has dreams. Dreams and nightmares. Dreams in the sense of the word where they are your aspirations. In fairness, it all depends on your own interpretation.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

It was late. Well, late by anyone else's standards. I was usually awake at 2AM. John, however, never was and tonight was no exception. He was snoring peacefully next to me, I couldn't help but stroke his close-shaven hair, this was our usual routine. It was different now though, John was stirring uncomfortable, but when I moved my hand away he only squirmed more. He began murmuring things, but I couldn't make out what, I started to panic. His expression was pained but I didn't know what to do.

* * *

_**John**_

Gun shots. Screeching. Blood. My vision reddened and my ears rang. Where am I? How did I get here? No time. No time to think, something was coming, we were on the move. We? Other men, comrades, faces I recognised run alongside me. Someone screams. I turn, who is it? A man's on the floor, his arm a few metres away, he screams, panic spreads. People look at me expectantly. Adrenalin. I kneel down next to him, get my equipment, do what I can. Others come. I still can't hear. The blood flow won't stop, it gushes out, everywhere, a crimson river that won't end. More people scream. Another bomb. Bullets rain down. More victims. More blood. More screaming. It won't stop. It just won't end. Why won't it end? Wher-

"JOHN?!" A voice pierced the explosions. I sat bolt upright, panting. I was in bed, in my room at 221B. The voice... Sherlock, Sherlock was here, it was okay. I looked to my right for him and sure enough, he was there. He was looking at me, concern in his eyes. My heart thundered in my chest.

"Sherlock..." I trailed off.

Sherlock put his arms around me and hugged. "It's okay John, it's fine, you were just dreaming. You're okay, nothing is going to hurt you here. It's fine." Sherlock continued murmuring soothing things into my ear as I still tried to grasp the situation at hand. It was drenched in a cold sweat and my heart rate still hadn't slowed, I put my arms around Sherlock to let him know I was okay. He squeezed back.

"I thought your nightmares had stopped." He said softly.

I nuzzled into his neck shamelessly, I could feel the tear streaks on my cheeks. "So did I."

Sherlock continued petting me. "Are you okay? You're not worried or anything are you? Stressed?"

"No." I mumbled, his concern was touching. Something nobody ever expected from Sherlock, care for other people. He can care. Sometimes he just finds it difficult. A few moments later we were both laying back down, Sherlock still stroking my hair, tremors still running through me.

"...Are you feeling better, John?" Sherlock queried.

I smiled at him. "I'm alright." Sherlock continued fussing me. "Honestly, I'm fine."

"I don't care. You're my cat and I'm stroking you." He smiled at me.

I raised an eyebrow. "Cat?"

Sherlock laughed. "Kitten."

I rolled my eyes. "I was drunk, leave me alone."

"Okay." Sherlock messed with my hair, and slowly my eyes closed.

"Goodnight Sherlock."

"Goodnight cupcake."


	8. Quiet Stress

So the three Sherlock words were released this week :D What better way to celebrate than to indulge in a bit of Johnlock? Go on, you know you want to. Also: I am aware that using two words is kind of a cop-out, but I got two suggestions that I really loved and thought it could be fun to combine them.

John is feeling tense and Sherlock tries to help him unwind.

* * *

**Quiet/Stress**

If a place of lodgings could be classed as temperamental, then 221B Baker Street would come under that category. Sometimes, it is filled with deafening gun shots as Sherlock releases frustration on the unsuspecting wall, at other times it is silent when Sherlock goes off into his mind palace for a case. John is not a fan of either of these extremities, but more comfortable when the conversation is flowing at a steady rate – unfortunately, these moments were hard to come by. Sometimes, however, that could be a good thing. The atmospheric tension can also be reflected by the amount of communication, but it mainly rested upon whether there was a case available that Sherlock was occupied with, and if his significant other was tolerating his generally hostile air.

* * *

_**John**_

I stopped typing for a moment, suddenly aware that the only noise was my laptop board clicking as I E-mailed my sister. God it was quiet. I mean, not just quiet, that kind of quiet where you think you're going to get suffocated in it. The only positive was that it was good for my throbbing head. The connotations of quietness are always worrying, it unnerved me when I couldn't hear Sherlock doing something. There was no violin playing, no test tubes clinking, no bleep from Sherlock texting Lestrade sarcastic comments. Usually this meant that he was thinking, or sleeping (as he did once every week or something insane) but the first was more likely.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

Excellent, John was using his time alone gratefully, "leaving me to my own devices" as it were. He needed it though. Harry had gone back into alcohol rehabilitation, I was aware, and the Watson family were currently experiencing some difficulty. Although it usually can (admittedly) be a struggle for me to identify John's emotions, I understood perfectly how it felt to be quarrelling with siblings. He'd been stressed all week and I could tell it was really getting to him now. I sighed. He needed uplifting, and I'm being QUIET. Surely that should ring alarm bells for John, honestly I could be getting stabbed or kidnapped or something in here. Clearly the sheer improbability of me being in trouble overrules John's protective nature. For this I was thankful, it gave me enough time to execute my "uplifting" plans.

* * *

_**John**_

Okay, _now _I was worried, I can't deal with this right now. I had been in my room a whole hour without being disturbed, something had to be wrong. I should go and see what he's up to. The wordless silence speaks louder than the usual noise Sherlock makes. Tentatively, I put my laptop away and got up to investigate into the sudden hushed nature of the Consulting Detective. As I entered the living room Sherlock was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a childlike innocence. I was automatically suspicious.

"What are you doing?" I asked, before wandering into the kitchen.

"Nothing." He smiled as I began the regular process of making tea.

"Okay, what have you _been_ doing?" I leaned up the counter and waited for the kettle to boil, watching Sherlock warily.

He looked at me casually."Nothing." He repeated.

I raised my eyebrow as a response and continued tea brewing, as I turned to get the sugar I noted a vase of flowers on the counter top; the flowers were deep purple tulips and they smelt simply lovely.

"Why do we have flowers in here?" I asked as I sniffed one.

Sherlock was watching me carefully. "_We _don't, _you_ do." At this he blushed slightly. _Awwwwwwww_.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

Relief. I could not be more relieved. I was worried that John may think me patronising for getting him such a typically feminine gift, he did not. I was still uncomfortable under his focus, what if he thought I was being weird or clingy? Hopefully he had not put as much thought into this as I had.

* * *

_**John**_

I laughed gently. "What's the occasion?" Swiftly I stopped. "Shit... is it some kind of anniversary? I'm so sorry Sherlock, I'm usually great with this kind of thing, but I've been distracted with Harry and whatever and-" Sherlock intervened.

"There is no occasion, John." He shrugged. I thought for a moment. Sherlock never really did romantic gestures, this was new, this was... very nice.

"Aww, Sherlock, thank you, I love them." I was only just enlightened to the fact that I really liked flowers. The kettle ping brought me out of my thoughts and I went and poured the water, before heading to the fridge to fetch the milk. I braced myself for the inevitable shelves of Petri dishes. I was shocked for the second time in the last ten minutes, instead of bacterium's cluttering up our fridge, there were a few jars of my favourite jam.

"Sherlock... Did you go shopping?"

The man in question was currently engrossed in some document. "Mm-hmm."

I smiled. "Thank you." He blushed slightly more, before raising the document so he was no longer visible. I finished making the tea and grabbed two ibuprofen tablets for my headache before going and sitting down. I swallowed them with my tea and waited for the headache to subside. Sherlock nodded a thanks to me and sipped at his every now and again. After some time with none of us speaking Sherlock lowered his document.

"I was wondering if you wanted to have a Lord of the Rings marathon." He stated.

I stopped halfway between a tea sip and stared at him. "You don't like LOTR."

He shrugged. "It's okay." I could tell he was lying, the only reason he even knew it existed was because I always moaned about putting it on. Well, if he had finally given in I wasn't going to protest.

"Sure. Come on then." I indicated for Sherlock to sit next to me, he complied after putting the DVD on.

I could see him suppressing his sarcastic comments and eye rolls throughout, bless him. We had snuggled up together, and Sherlock was watching me more than the film, somehow running his fingers through my closely cut hair. It was all I could do to not fall asleep. Eventually, however, I realised I must have failed as I woke up curled up with Sherlock. It was the most peaceful I had felt in ages.

* * *

Remember that Spongebob episode where Patrick tries to sell chocolate by telling a potential buyer he loves them? Yes, well, that will be me if you Review, Favourite or Follow :D x


	9. Birthday

To the good people of FanFiction (and you naughty ones, I do like you ;) ) today is indeed my Birthday! Yay! As the baby of my year group I'm the very last to hit fifteen, but I am finally there. To celebrate I thought I'd write some FanFiction for the delightful people of the interwebs. Love all round!

Warning: I USED A DIFFERENT P.O.V! AGHHHHH! Hehehehe, yeah, I felt it necessary. Did Jonesy do good? :3

**BIRTHDAYS**

**PRESENTS**

**SURPRISES**

**LESTRADE**

**FLUUUUUUFF**

* * *

**Birthday**

Birthdays, essentially being rewarded for something you had nothing to do with. It's ideal. In 221B however, all of the residents just appeared from thin air it would seem. Neither John nor Sherlock had birthdays apparently. John never mentioned his, and Sherlock did not either. Eventually, however, this began to rouse suspicion.

* * *

_**John**_

It was my birthday next week, God forbid. I had to keep it a secret. I hated my Birthday. Bad things always happened, and it reminded me how death was nearing, it's all rather morbid when you think about it. I haven't told Sherlock, and I don't plan too. He'll just worry over what to get me, and end up wrapping a severed toe in tissue last second, it's not worth it. I'd rather just continue as normal.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

My phone bleeped on the table near to me just I was about to release a pipette full of Hydrobromic Acid, startling me enough to misplace one drop, spoiling the entire experiment. I growled. John grabbed my phone and the screen lit up. "Mycroft." He droned before chucking the phone to me. I caught it, abandoning the pipette and viewing my forever infuriating Brother's message.

_You are aware of someone's Birthday is going to be upon us shortly, I hope. – MH_

I sighed.

_Is it mine? I do not recall. You know I do not care for Birthdays. – SH_

_Yes, Sherlock, but not only yours. – MH_

_Just tell me, I do not have time for this, you have already derailed today's activities. – SH_

_Doctor Watson's. Three days. No need for thanks, Brother. – MH_

I put my phone down, it was John's Birthday? Why had he not said anything? Oh no, what would he like? A severed toe perhaps? Hmm... maybe not. It was hard enough pretending that I myself had no birth let alone dealing with John and his same problem. Still, he had no reason to deny himself a Birthday celebration, so a celebration he shall have.

* * *

_**John**_

I threw Sherlock's phone to him and he caught it, making displeased grunting noises as he did so, which was usual whenever Mycroft messaged him. I walked into the front room and sat down, flicking through channels uninterestedly. A few minutes later my phone went off.

_You and Sherlock share Birthday's. My Brother has never enjoyed his, as I expect you have never found much pleasure in yours. Change it. – MH_

...Sherlock had the same Birthday as me, and he never thought to mention it? I suppose he didn't know my Birthday, but still. I didn't know whether to be annoyed or grateful Mycroft text. It was like he was instructing me to have fun. I did want Sherlock to have a nice day though. I'd just have to suck up my own issues with the day and do my best to keep the never impressed Sherlock happy.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

I immediately text Lestrade.

_John's Birthday. Birthday's mean parties. Parties mean people. He likes people. You're a person. – SH_

_...Yes? – GL_

_So come round and we'll call it a party. – SH_

_Three is a crowd. Fifteen is a party. – GL_

* * *

_**John**_

Hmm...

_Can you somehow make it so a really interesting case happens next week, Greg? – JW_

_Why? Sherlock stressing you out? Could go for a pint if you want. – GL_

_Nah, Sherlock's Birthday, and I want to plan him something to do that he'll actually enjoy. – JW_

_It's Sherlock's Birthday next week? Right, okay, leave it with me John. I've got just the thing. – GL_

Oh... well that was surprisingly easy. Now, I should actually get something for him.

_**Sherlock**_

_Baker Street is too small for fifteen Yarders, whom I am likely to carry GBH out on. – SH_

_Yeah, I know, I'll sort it Sherlock. Don't worry. – GL_

Maybe the Inspector wasn't such an idiot after all. Now John would have a social gathering of some form, which would make up for the probably awful present. I had an idea of what to get John, but it is one of those concepts that are easier said than done. Abandoning my experiment completely I walked out of the kitchen, calling "Need something from Mrs Hudson, back shortly." to John before I left to see the lovely Landlady in question.

* * *

_**John**_

Sherlock had left the flat, this was my chance to go and put my (hurried) plans into action. I got up and grabbed my coat, before heading off to Tesco. There I grabbed what I needed and ran back to the flat, I stopped outside Mrs Hudson's door on the way and knocked.

"Come in, John." Her familiar, frail voice called. I walked in. Sherlock was sitting opposite Mrs Hudson, and something about the way he was sitting was suspicious. I chose to ignore it at this time.

"Hello." I smiled at him, then at Mrs Hudson. "Would it be alright if I borrowed something from your kitchen please?"

"Of course, Dear, help yourself." She laughed lightly as I went and retrieved the desired item, and slipped it into my bags.

"How long are you going to be down here, Sherlock?" I asked, as casually as possible.

"Err, a while I imagine. Sorry, I have something to do." I smiled in relief inwardly.

"Oh, okay, I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Mm-hmm." He murmured as we kissed quickly, Mrs Hudson flashed me that warm smile she always did whenever we showed affection that could only be interpreted as 'Aww, my boys, so sweet'; after that I retreated back into our own lodgings to set about my project.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

Three days solid I practically lived with Mrs Hudson, learning from her. Three. Days. This is what I had to show for it. I looked at the jumper in my hands, it was awful, my knitting left something to be desired. The wool was brown, with a little deep red pocket knitted on, but some stitches were loose and the pattern had dropped in places. It looked disastrous. A car wreck of a jumper. I prayed that whatever Lestrade was working on would make up for it. I would owe him, if I hadn't saved an innumerable amount of cases for him. I waited for John to get back from the clinic uneasily, his present could not even be classed as a gift, but it was my best efforts.

* * *

_**John**_

I was nearly home, this morning I hadn't said anything to Sherlock about me knowing it was his Birthday. I wanted this to be a surprise. He probably wouldn't like it, but a lot of thought had gone into it so I hoped he would take that into consideration. I also hoped that Greg had gotten that case I was after for him. I text Sherlock to let him know I was nearly home.

_Five minutes away. I want to see you when I get in, that means no retreating into your mind palace. x – JW_

_Okay. Need to see you anyway. x – SH_

Sherlock needed to see me? Oh God, he better not have blew up my bloody shoe again. Suddenly my phone bleeped in my hand, I expected it was Sherlock.

* * *

_**Inspector Greg Lestrade**_

The Baker Street Boys have their Birthday on the same day. Brilliant. Deceiving Sherlock Holmes was as fun as it sounded, John was just a bonus. Sherlock wanted John to have a party. John wanted Sherlock to have fun. I had the answer.

_Said I'd sort it. Get a cab to 836 Newman Street, it's a big place, you can't miss it. 7PM sharp. Formalish/Formal-Casual attire. Don't worry about excuses, your better half has already been given a water tight excuse :) – GL _

I wish I was there to see the looks on their faces when they receive that.

_Thanks mate, I owe you one :) – JW_

_Finally, a use for you. Nicely done Lestrade.- SH_

Thanks from Sherlock Holmes always was specifically worded.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

John looked as awkward as I did when he walked through the door, I stored it in my Mind Palace for later analysis. For now though, I had more important things to tend to. Once John had put his coat on the rack and slipped his shoes off I went over and squeezed him, wrapping my arms around his waist.

"Happy Birthday." I mumbled into his ear. John tensed a moment, before relaxing into the embrace and putting his arms on my shoulders.

"Happy Birthday to you too." He laughed.

I was confused briefly, until my mind solved the situation. "Mycroft." I sighed.

John chuckled gently. "Spot on." His warm breath tingled against my chest and I pulled away. He looked up at me. "Got you a gift." He grinned.

"Shouldn't have." I stated. "I may have gotten you one too, though." At this he smirked. "You're having yours first though." I instructed as I pulled him over to the sofa and nudged him down on to it, then I retrieved his folded up jumper from its hiding place. I put it into his arms awkwardly and fidgeted.

* * *

_**John**_

It was... a jumper. Hand knitted clearly, it was a bit shabby and lopsided, but Sherlock had made it. Sherlock Holmes, the world's only Consulting Detective had _knitted_. I laughed in disbelief. Sherlock frowned.

"Aww Sherlock, it's lovely."

"You just laughed, I'm not that stupid." He looked slightly flushed.

I smiled more and hugged him. "Don't be silly, I laughed because I'm happy, this is the sweetest thing anyone's done for me." I felt Sherlock relax.

"You really like it?" He queried in a slightly child-like way.

"I really love it." I replied and squeezed him tighter, Sherlock seemed content. "Anyway... it's your turn now." I got up and rummaged in my work bag, retrieving the scrap book I had made him. I handed it to him uncertainly. He stared at it.

"What does... err..." He trailed off so I opened the front cover for him. He scanned the pages, the first page had pictures of us together. Ones from newspapers, ones from Mrs Hudson, a few Lestrade had text me as he'd sneakily snapped us being loved-up at a crime scene, even a few I'd manage to get of us; despite Sherlock's protests. The next page had a few of us as children, mainly Sherlock growing up. The next few pages were filled with odd bits and pieces from cases, or things from our lives that had seemed significant. A pen that I had thrown at Donovan after a "freak" jibe, a mushy note Sherlock had left for me, the tea bag from the first cup of tea Sherlock had made for me (after we'd been living together for nearly a year), the list went on. It was all very slapdash, and messy, and probably too sentimental for Sherlock; but he did seem genuinely interested. Finally he finished and looked at me, I squirmed.

"John..." He traced his finger along the spine.

"Err, yeah?"

"This, is the nicest thing I have ever seen... aside from your face." Sherlock laughed and I grinned at him.

"As much as I love your flirting, I believe we have an engagement." I looked at the clock, before glancing at Sherlock again.

Sherlock stood up and pulled me after him. "Quite. Come on then, we probably should dress."

I purred at him. "But I prefer you without clothing."

Sherlock laughed in his baritone way. "Not now, John, we have to go."

**...TIME WARP 20 MINUTES INTO THE FUTURE...**

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

I realigned my purple shirt collar and smoothed down my black suit, seeing creases where there probably were none. John stuck his head around the door, checking my outfit.

"That's not very casual." He pointed out.

"Formal-casual." I corrected.

"Well where's your casual?"

I paused, before half-smiling at him. "Here it is."

He smirked at me before entering the room properly, I could see he was wearing the jumper I had knitted under a blazer, with dark blue jeans and brown shoes.

I got my stuff and walked over to him. "You're wearing the jumper _outside_ of the house?"

"Of course I am," He chuckled. "I did tell you I loved it."

I felt something flutter in my stomach, and I knew caring was not a disadvantage.

**...TIME WARP 30 MINUTES INTO THE FUTURE...**

* * *

_**John**_

The building really was big, and I pondered over what Lestrade had in mind for Sherlock.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

Good. Big. Big enough for a party. The whole prospect was almost intolerable, but then I recalled who I was doing it for, and the evening seemed bearable.

* * *

_**Inspector Greg Lestrade**_

Oh their faces as they entered the room (currently coated in banners, lights and confetti) were picture worthy. So I took some. The speakers blared "Happy Birthday to you" and they both looked about, bemused. It shortly sunk in though as I strolled over and grinned at the couple.

"Happy Birthday lads!" I chuckled as they looked at all the eyes on them self-consciously. "Thing is, thought I should do something, since you do help us a tiny bit every now and again." At this I earned a glare from Sherlock, John simply laughed.

"Oh, Greg, this is... thanks. Bit much though." John nudged my shoulder playfully.

"You haven't seen anything yet, everyone's waiting for you to slow dance before they get pissed up and dance."

Both of their faces fell.

"I can't dance." John mumbled.

"I don't dance." Sherlock grunted.

The music changed to "Iris" by "GooGoo Dolls", right on cue, and I pushed them towards the dance floor.

_And I'd give up forever to touch you... 'Cause I know that you feel me somehow..._

Eventually they stopped shuffling as they arrived in the middle of the room, and awkwardly stood there. The video cameras all slipped out.

_You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be... And I don't want to go home right now..._

As the song started up John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's middle and placed his face in the nook of Sherlock's neck.

_And all I can taste is this moment... And all I can breathe is your life..._

Sherlock draped his arms over John's shoulders and put his chin on John's head.

'_Cause sooner or later it's over... I just don't want to miss you tonight..._

They swayed slowly in tandem with the music as it picked up volume.

_And I don't want the world to see me... 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand..._

I couldn't imagine a more fitting couple.

_When everything's made to be broken... I just want you to know who I am..._

I felt someone pull my sleeve and I came out of my trance, Molly was smiling at me, and she pulled me gently to the dance floor.

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming... Or the moment of truth in your lies..._

Shortly after the other couples joined us, but eyes remained on the couple in the middle of the room.

_When everything feels like the movies... Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive..._

I saw John smile into Sherlock's shoulder as Sherlock began running his fingers through John's hair. Eventually, the song droned out.

_I just want you to know who I am..._

Everybody remained silent a moment, and Sherlock clearly used this as an advantage to pull his partner somehow closer and kissed him. I almost thought a round of applause was about to go up but the music became more upbeat before they had chance to, and the room was filled with fast-paced dance music; but Sherlock and John continued as they were.

* * *

Well that kind of got sadder than planned :/ Buuut I did have fun writing it :D So I hope you enjoy it x


	10. Communication

So sorry about the delay, my laptop broke half way through an update :| So now I'm writing whenever possible on other people's laptops via my memory stick :P I am truly DISTRAUGHT from my lack of writing, so I hope this is up to what you expect. Enjoooooy this TEENY TINY update, I'll make up for it, I swear.

I APOLOGISE IF THIS IS AWFUL BUT MY HEAD'S BANGING LIKE A DRUM BUT I REALLY WANT TO WRITE STUFF :'(

* * *

**Communication**

Communication is supposedly the key to a normal, healthy relationship. As such, one would guess that the communication within 221B – or more appropriately the _lack _of it – would suggest that the relationship within was abnormal and unhealthy. This, would be correct.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

"John!" I called out mid-thought.

I was answered with silence.

"John! I need a pen!" I tried again.

Still silence. I heaved a sigh and moved away from the table, currently laden with entrails, and looked around. John was nowhere to be seen. It was rather rude of him to not come to my beck and call. He usually does. Perhaps I should be worried; although he probably is just at work or something else trivial. His absence was annoying to say the least. Good he isn't here really, he's always saying how I never notice when he leaves, and he could never have the satisfaction of knowing he was correct. Finally, accepting that John was not coming, I stood up and looked around. There was a note pinned to the fridge reading:

"_Sherlock,_

_Gone to buy more nicotine patches, you look stressed, knowing you won't have listened when I told you thought I should leave a note._

_P.S: There's a pen in your front pocket_

_John xx"_

…Damn him.


	11. Communication Continued

Text-time, yay! A bit of crack, fluff, you get the drift. My second update of the day, check me :P

**WARNING: There's a naughty word :O**

* * *

**Communication Continued**

_John. – SH_

_John. – SH_

_John. – SH_

…_John. – SH_

_Don't ignore me. –SH_

_What, Sherlock? I'm not ignoring you, I'm working. – JW_

_Oh. Well I need you at home. – SH_

_No. I'm not being your experiment again. – JW_

_Oh come on, you were fine last time. That's not what I want you for anyway, just come home. – SH_

_I was not fine, I was unconscious for three and a half hours, I'm not coming home… or drinking tea you've made for me ever again. – JW_

_Please John. – SH_

_You never say please, feeling okay? – JW_

_No. In need of a Doctor. – SH_

_As sweet as that is I still have to work. – JW_

_I'll send you a picture of me looking sad. – SH_

_As fun as that is, my break is over very soon Sherlock, you looking sad can't get me out of work. – JW_

_Picture Message - SH_

…_I have no good excuse to leave work grumpy. – JW_

_There's been a death in the family. – SH_

_You're sad, not dead. – JW_

_Same difference. – SH_

_Sherlock. – JW_

_Please John… I need cuddling. – SH_

_Fine. Coming home. Forwarding that last text to Lestrade though. – JW_

_Picture Message - SH_

…_DAMN YOUR CUTENESS HOLMES. Fine, I won't forward it. – JW_

_Love you John. – SH_

_I know. – JW_

Picture_ Message - SH_

_HOW DO YOU KEEP GETTING CUTER?! In taxi now. Love you too. – JW_

_Bring milk. – SH_

_Don't push it. – JW_

_I'll send a picture of me looking even sadder or "cuter". – SH_

_I love how you're okay with being patronised when it gets you something. – JW_

_Emotional manipulation is so fun with you. – SH_

* * *

_Cold and naked. Sharing body heat is most efficient way of getting warm. Come downstairs. – SH_

_I'm going to guess that wasn't for me, eh Sherlock? – GL_

…_I'm under a blanket, it's dark, clicking the wrong contact was likely. – SH_

_I'm forwarding this round the office :) - GL _

_I'm never working a cold case for you again. – SH_

_Damn you. – GL_

_I know. Don't bother texting me any case details for at least an hour, John came down on his own accord. – SH_

_Alright Sherlock, thanks for the private life update. – GL_

_Any time. – SH_

_I was being sarcastic. – GL_

_As was I, obviously. Don't text back either, I'm busy. – SH_

_I'm going to pretend I didn't just get mental images. – GL_

* * *

_HELP! – JW_

_I NEED SOMEBODY, HELP! – SH_

_Now is NOT the time to start learning popular culture! – JW_

_But you said it was your favourite song. – SH_

_But I need help, Sherlock, come out of your room already! – JW_

_NOT JUST ANYBODY, HELP! I NEED SOMEONE! HEEEELP! – SH_

_Never mind, I just binned your experiment in the end. – JW_

_YOU DIDN'T. – SH_

_I did. – JW_

…

_John, you are not supposed to lie to your spouse. – SH_

_It got you out of your room :) – JW_

_I am hurt. – SH_

_No you're not; you're annoyed that you couldn't deduce that I was lying. – JW_

_Shut up. – SH_

_;) – JW_

_Don't wink at me. – SH_

_:* - JW_

_:( - SH_

_:( - JW_

_:( … :* - SH_

_:D :* - JW_

_Now I feel stupid, curse your normal-person influence! – SH_

_:D – JW_

… _- SH_

* * *

_Warning: Cock running free somewhere in flat, sorry. – SH_

…_What? I don't even… What? – JW_

_Ah, that did say Cockroach. Auto-correct. Ever so sorry. – SH_

_You don't hear me complaining ;) – JW_

_You're so crude. – SH_

* * *

_YOU. – JW_

…_What? – SH_

_I WANNA TAKE YOU TO A GAYBAR. – JW_

_Why would we go there? That's an awful idea. – SH_

_I WANNA TAKE YOU TO A GAYBAR. – JW_

_You've said, the idea is still just as unappealing. – SH_

_Let's start a war, start a nuclear war! At the gay bar, gay bar, gay bar! Wow! At the gay bar! - JW_

_Oh, I see. Harriet, do give your brother his phone back. – SH_

_No way this is 2 much fun :D – JW_

_Who else have you messaged then? – SH_

_I've txt greg saying that he's sexy, he's not replied ;) – JW_

_Hmm. – SH_

_Don't worry sherl, johns only got eyes 4 u :* - JW_

_Quite. – SH_

…

_Oh God, sorry Sherlock. She is SO annoying. – JW_

_It's not a problem John. Did Lestrade reply? – SH_

_Yeah, with " o.O " Don't worry, I set him straight. – JW_

_Good. – SH_

…_Were you getting jealous? – JW_

_No. – SH_

_Awwwww Sherlock :) – JW_

_I said no. – SH_

_I know that means yes. – JW_

_Think what you will. – SH_

_I get jealous whenever someone looks you up, you know. – JW_

_Nobody does that. – SH_

_Of course they do! You're all miles of alabaster, and legs, and black locks, and heart lips, and hypnotic eyes… and stuff. – JW_

…_I want you home now. – SH_

_On my way. – JW_

* * *

_Steal sandwich tonight? You need something decent to eat. - JW_

…_Why on Earth would I steal a sandwich? – SH_

_That was meant to say Steak Duck -_- Oh dear. – JW_


	12. Story

Greetings all, hope you're having a nice Sunday. So this is my third update of the weekend (I'm trying to fit as many as possible in to make up for the fact that – due to my on laptop being broken – my updates shall be few and far between for the foreseeable future) and I hope you like it :D

I'd just like to say thank you to "sherloki", "johnsarmylady" and "Akemi713" for your lovely words of support :D But of course, thank you to everyone who gives me feedback! YOU ARE ALL AMAZING CARBON-BASED LIFEFORMS.

Love this prompt word :3

* * *

**Story**

Stories, myths, legends, fairy tales: all things that are old as time itself. To be exact, stories ARE time. Stories are great for children… and adults too it seems.

* * *

_**John**_

"Sherlock…"

"Yes?"

"You're on my laptop."

"Well observed."

"My password-protected laptop."

"You really should think of better passwords."

"Without asking."

"You were in the bathroom."

"You could've waited. It would be fine if you just asked first."

"What do you think I'm doing on it, really John?"

"Looking at personal documents… or editing my blog."

"Whatever would give you that idea?"

"I can see the reflection of the screen in the window."

At this, Sherlock paused. "Oh… you are good."

I suppressed a small smile. "So, what got you so curious you had to hijack my laptop?"

He pressed his lips together in a thin line.

"Come on, just tell me. Don't make me tickle it out of you."

"Is that a serious threat?" He raised his eyes from the screen.

I pulled my best stern face. "Don't challenge me."

"…Fine. You write."

"What? Of course I write, you know I do, hence the blog." Sherlock rolled his eyes as I went and flopped down onto the sofa next to him.

"No, I mean you write… stories." I looked at the document Sherlock had open, it was an old draft of a children's story I had begun writing.

"Oh. Used to, not really any more. If you wanted to read one you should have just said, they're awful anyway."

Sherlock frowned at me. "On the contrary, I find them rather enjoyable actually."

I laughed in disbelief. "Sherlock Holmes, enjoying fiction? Enjoying MY fiction? Something isn't right."

"Ever unpredictable." He smirked.

"I know," I laughed "glad someone likes them then."

"I'm sure lots of people would, you should write some more." He said thoughtfully, skimming over the document.

"I might do, you know. Thanks Sherlock." I leant over and kissed him, before sweeping the laptop from his lap onto mine and reviewing my old work before starting again. Sherlock got up to leave. "Where are you going?"

"Our room… you're writing."

"But you can't leave. You're my muse." I pouted.

Sherlock flounced dramatically. "Ah, to be the muse of an author, wonderful."

* * *

…**TIME WARP TO LATER THAT EVENING…**

* * *

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlooooock." I called.

"What, Jaaaaaaaaaaawn?"

"I finished my first draft."

Sherlock smiled and came to sit down next to me. "Read it to me? We might as well do this properly."

I laughed and pulled him down to lie on my shoulder. "I'm glad you asked, of course."

"In a land far away, where the summers were sweltering and the winters bitter, there were two men. These two men had to protect this land from the forces of evil, but this sometimes became difficult. The evils were very strong, but these two men had something the forced of evil didn't. They had love: the strongest power in the universe. That's why evil never wins. Also this one man had a scarf and it was sexy. The End." I smiled at Sherlock, who was looking up at me looking disapproving.

"That wasn't your real story, was it?"

"No." I laughed. "Did you not like it?"

"It was-… you think my scarf is sexy?"

I felt myself blushing slightly. "Err… well sort of, yeah."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "I see. I think we should discuss this further in the bedroom.. feel free to get my scarf." He winked at me and bound off like a gazelle, God I loved him.


	13. Teddy

FYIDSFBVGIKL HELLO :D My laptop is fiiiiiiixed! I have missed you all so much. I've been able to access my account on my phone but not post anything, so I could see my reviews increasing and be able to read them but not respond :( Sad times.

NOW THEN NOW THEN NOW THEN

I'm gonna write for you lovely people :3 (Also eat Harribos but that's not so important).

This one is from request of icey summer 02 who gave me a few prompts :D Thaaaanks. Do feel free to leave prompts, your insane imaginations never cease to entertain me.

* * *

**Teddy**

Cuddly bears, what was not to love? They are simply ADORABLE. All children have a cuddly bear at some point in their lives.

* * *

_**John**_

I had found a disadvantage to sharing a bedroom with Sherlock... well, no, I had found a _few _disadvantages to sharing a room with Sherlock.

1. He never tidies up after himself

2. He puts experiments in obscene places A.K.A my pants draw

3. He sprawls like a star-fish in his sleep

4. He is prone to shoving me out of the bed

The one thing, though, the most important problem was this: Sherlock didn't like Mr Teddington. What had Mr Teddington ever done to him exactly? He was old, battered, stained, with one button eye and well worn fur but he had never done anything to deserve scorn from Sherlock. So when Sherlock decided to kick Mr Teddington out of the bed I was appalled to say the least.

"What did you do that for?!"

"Do what?" He looked at me blankly.

"Throw Mr Teddington out of bed!" I exclaimed.

Sherlock quirked his eyebrow. "Mr Teddington?"

I glared at him.

He continued. "Well, _Mr Teddington_, was taking up room... and also your cuddles."

"I can hug you both, I don't even hug him anymore. He just sits at the bottom of the bed and is cute." I rationalised as I got up and placed Mr Teddington back in his rightful place.

"Hmm."

From this I safely assumed that Sherlock was not a fan of teddies as a whole, as it seemed, I was wrong.

* * *

"Sherlock... what's this?" I asked, retrieving an unmistakably bear-shaped item from a box under the bed.

"It would appear to be a Teddy Bear." He stated.

I dusted the teddy off and straightened it's silk bowtie. "Yes, I can see that, what's it doing under here?"

"That's where I keep him." Sherlock replied as he walked over to me and took the bear from my hands, before sorting out his waistcoat. "Still as dapper as ever."

"He's yours? You have a Teddy bear?" I paused. "...What's his name?"

"Winston." Sherlock stated before handing the bear back to me.

"Oh." I stroked the fur for a few moments. "You shouldn't keep him in a box."

Sherlock rolled his eyes at me. "Winston is _fine _in a box. Where else would I put him?"

I looked around, before setting Winston down next to Mr Teddington at the end of our bed, then (deciding it somehow wasn't silly enough) I linked their paws and smiled at my work. "He can stay there with Mr Teddington."

Sherlock's lips twitched into a smile and I laughed. "Yes, I did just gay-up inanimate objects."

"Very... sentimental, it's lovely." Sherlock commented.

"Glad you agree, because they're not going anywhere."

"Wouldn't dream of moving them."

"Of course not."

"Of course not."

I gave Sherlock a warning look. "I mean it."

"As do I! Honestly, John, have some faith in me." Sherlock smiled as I walked him out of the room in front of me, leaving two toys behind, paws entwined.


	14. Hat

'Ellooooo, sorry I haven't updated in a little while, I was busy with boring things; school for example. Anyway, a friend of mine gave me this prompt, don't know where I'd be without her :P Anywho, do enjoy this instalment and leave a review of your opinions :D Just a short one.

P.S: I have not forgotten about the fan requested prompts, I'm just doing this one for a friend ;)

* * *

**Hat**

Get one Consulting Detective, add a helping of Best Friend/Lover/Partner/Doctor, stir in some media interest and what do you get? Annoyance, mainly. Especially when said Detective and Doctor are required to don certain disguises. The hats were especially memorable.

* * *

_**John**_

I rifled through the bottom of my wardrobe, searching for that hideous tie my Auntie bought me for Christmas, I was seeing her later so I had to wear it. There was so much crap in here, I should really clean it out, there's dust literally everywhere. Eventually I found it, after much time spent rummaging. I pulled it out and examined it, lime green, why would anyone ever wear this? I was about to shut the door again and clamber out of the wardrobe when something else caught my eye, I picked it up and dusted it off. It was Sherlock's Deerstalker, well, the hat he hated but had in his possession. I chuckled as I thought about the last time he'd worn it.

"_Is it a cap— ? Why's it got two fronts?"_

_"It's a deerstalker."_

_"How do you stalk a deer with a hat? What are you going to do, throw it?__ Some sort of death frisbee?__It's got flaps. Ear flaps. It's an ear hat, John!"_

For a man who knew a hell of a lot, one hat really managed to cause quite some confusion.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

I heard a sneeze come from John upstairs, must be his allergies, the dust allergy as he is in the wardrobe. I decided to go and see what he was up to.

As I looked into the room I could see John in the wardrobe, examining what would appear to be that God awful hat from some time ago.

"You really need to stop rummaging, John, bears and now hats; I dread to think what you'll find next." I asserted.

"I just don't like clutter..." He murmured.

"Hm." Was all I commented before going over and taking the blasted thing from his grip, before throwing it at the wall.

"Sherloooock." John drawled at me, flashing a dispraising look as he did so.

I smiled in return and glared at the offending item on the floor.

John sighed. "Pick it up, Sherlock."

"But why? The floor is where it belongs." I reasoned.

"Sherlock." My eyes met John's, he still looked slightly annoyed.

My defeat was finally accepted, "Fine." and I went and retrieved the headgear.

* * *

_**John**_

When I'd finally finished getting ready to visit the family I headed downstairs. After all this time of living with Sherlock you'd think it impossible for him to still surprise me. That is simply not true.

Sherlock stood, leaning over the kitchen table, watching the Deer Stalker burn like an effigy.

I began my exasperated rant. "That's not ev-!"

"It's on a heat proof mat, don't worry." Sherlock said bluntly, not taking his eyes off the object in front of him.

"It's still not appropriate."

I could see Sherlock's eye-roll from where I stood. "It's an experiment, John."

"No it's not, you're ju-"

"Science."

"Hat burning is n-"

"Science."

"IT'S N-"

"Science!" He insisted as the last of the hat disintegrated.

"Eurgh..."

He turned away from the table and straightened up. "Don't make that noise at me John, I'm finished now."

"Hrm." Was all I had to offer.

"Jaaaawn..." Sherlock pouted, walking over and wrapping his arms around my hips.

"Not now Sherlock, I have to go." I responded, trying to prise his hands away... without success.

"But-"

"No."

Sherlock glowered at me, before lovingly attacking my mouth with the most desired weapon of his tongue. Sherlock must've predicted that I was going to protest as he pulled away and breathed, "It's science." Before continuing his assault.

Needless to say, I was not on time to see my Auntie.


	15. Buttons

Hello, hello, hello, hello! Sooo it's the weekend again so I guess I should probably update, meh, who am I kidding? I really wanted to :P So I am finally going to get round to that fan requested list. Yay!

Another short and silly one, I'll get serious and stuff soooon :D

* * *

**Buttons (The Chocolate Kind) ;)**

Erm... om nom nom nom.

* * *

_**John**_

Om nom nom nom, om nom... nom. Did I mention nom? I LOVED chocolate buttons, plain and simply loved them. Have done ever since I was a kid really, I used to get them after school when I saved up some pocket money. They were just fun to lick and stick to yourself if you didn't eat them, or stick them together to make an ultra-button. Obviously, jelly babies were also a favourite of mine; the Doctor Who referencing is still going unnoticed by Sherlock. I think anyone else would have a vague idea if you said "Jelly baby?" and offered them one in that voice. Sherlock hasn't quite watched all of Doctor Who yet though, he is not a fan, and has only seen any because I have forced him. Anyway, back to the point, LOVE BUTTONS. It's definitely a healthy indulgence for a middle aged man.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

John was eating chocolate buttons, technically, he's licking them. Then he is sticking them to his forehead. Sometimes, he does stuff like this; things that are completely silly and make no sense. Silly John usually wore off quite quickly though. I could wait it out.

* * *

…**TIME WARP 30 SECONDS INTO THE FUTURE…**

* * *

_Blip_

Something pinged off the back off my neck.

_Blip_

Again, ah, John is still being silly.

_Blip_

I'm sure there are better uses for buttons. I flipped my head around, to see John sitting in his armchair innocently. He had a button on the end of his tongue and was gazing around the room nonchalantly. I glared at him until his eyes met mine.

"…Pwoblem?" He asked sweetly, lisping from the confectionery at the tip of his tongue.

"Hmm, there would appear to be one. It would seem somebody is flicking chocolate at my neck." I replied.

"Why'd I do that? You're thweet enough ath it ith." He winked.

My lips quirked into a small smile. "Are you actually going to eat that?"

John shook his head, somehow managing to keep the button firmly latched to his tongue.

Obviously, the only logical course of action was to go over and eat it off his tongue; his face, however, implied that it was somehow odd. He looked up at me with wide eyes.

"…You ate my button."

I shrugged. "Someone had to."

"So… you do like buttons?" John asked.

I sighed. "Yes, they're fine."

"So why'd you moan when I flicked them at you?" He queried in a child-like manner.

I only glared in response.

John took it upon himself to see this as an invitation to lick my cheek, before jumping up, running to our room and slamming the door shut before giggling like an over-grown five year old.

My blogger, my soldier, my warrior… my undeniably silly partner.


	16. Romance

Hey there, sorry for my absence, laptop and school and EVERYTHING EVER EURGH.

Eurgh.

So yeah... Partial song fic here (guess which song my Dears :P ), hope it goes well.

Enjoy some good-hearted fluff :P

Me: Dad I need a word, any word at all please.

Dad: ...Is it for writing?

Me: Maybe...

Dad: Romance! *maniacal cackle*

Me: :( ... *Inwardly: YAY.*

**WARNINGS: SWEAR WORDS AND IMPLIED HOMOPHOBIA :O**

* * *

**Romance**

Romance, wooing, courting... all things that require a certain flair. It's always associated with typical things; the best kind of romances, however, are the unique ones.

* * *

**NARRATION**

_If you ever felt... alone. If you ever felt... rejected._

Captain John Hamish Watson, injured, no family left and suffering with a psychosomatic limp. He needed someone, company, excitement, a use for that bloody great heart of his. Something to test his intelligence. Motivation. A new lease for life.

Sherlock Scott Holmes, sociopath, has a weirdly present Brother and ever confusing DI. Isolated in a world full of people, fighting for what he believes in, enjoys what he does, yet still cannot understand what is lacking. The drugs won't do it, the cases aren't quite contenting, everything holds on air of... hollowness.

_If you ever felt confused. If you ever felt lost._

Why? Again, why? It always ends badly, people, it never works. It's unnecessarily complicated. He was a good man, wasn't he? He didn't feel it but everyone always said he was, and still, here he was again. Sitting. Alone. Limping.

Inappropriate was such a generic term. Deduce, Sherlock. Don't deduce, Sherlock. Pick one! Learn to control feeble human emotions, always remain in control. What about those stray thoughts, the ones that long for company and companionship? Quell them. Permanently.

_If you ever felt anxious. If you ever felt wrong._

Bastard. Freak. Unnatural. Sick. Weak. Messed up. Coward. Loner. Idiot. Twat.

John. Sherlock.

_If you ever felt wronged..._

Too inhuman for friendship?

_If you ever felt unclean._

It really isn't normal...

_If you ever felt angry._

Well you can't change how you were born!

_If you ever felt ashamed._

Oh, God, no-one can know.

_If you ever felt curious._

Just a try can't do much harm.

_If you ever felt used._

Ah, it would seem it can...

_BE PREPARED TO FEEL..._

_REVENGE._

Revenge is a dish best served cold, years later should suffice. To have someone who is literally your other half. To do all the things you never could and to do the things they never would.

_FEEL THE ROMANCE._

Sweet nothings, holding hands, flowers and chocolates... sentiment.

There is SO much more to the heart, therefore there should be so much more to romance.

_MY BRUTAL ROMANCE._

"Bring your revolver!"

"Punch me!"

"Bomb, hit the floor!"

_MY BEAUTIFUL ROMANCE._

Crime scene kisses.

Cab cuddling.

Homicide hugging.

Shoot-out snogging.

_MY MISERABLE ROMANCE._

"It's wrong!"

"He's too good for you."

"You'll never have a proper family."

_MY X-RATED ROMANCE._

John.

_MY HARLEQUIN ROMANCE._

Sherlock.

_MY INNOCENT ROMANCE._

There's a first for everything.

_MY CHILDISH ROMANCE._

"Jawn..."

"What?"

"Post-Case Huggies!"

_MY SCANDALOUS ROMANCE._

"The papers got another picture."

"Vultures."

"Does it not bother you?"

"Should it? Let them gossip. Boring."

_MY PATHETIC ROMANCE._

"I can't live without you."

"I would never ask that of you."

"...I love you."

_MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE._

* * *

Yeah... apologies if this sucked, I just wrote as I thought again. Also, if you can't guess the song, OH NOES. It's brill. Go! Listen! THE END WAS SO CLICHÉD AND OVERUSED AND I GOTTA STOP USING IT I'M SO SORRY. *hides*


	17. Letters

Helloooo, I know I've been gone for ages, and it's the same excuse as always: School. Personal issues. Boring crap like that. I can only apologise :P

Anyway, sorry, do try to enjoy darlings

Apologies for any mistakes, I'm really tired but want to update to make up for my crappyness.

* * *

**Letters**

Pen to paper is one of the oldest forms of communication, but over time has slowly died out. Nowadays, hardly anyone bothers with letters. The thing with dying arts, however, are that they are the most fun to revive.

* * *

_**John**_

I'd always known that Sherlock had a problem with expressing his emotions, I'm assuming that is what happens when you suppress them for the last thirty years of your life. So I probably shouldn't have been surprised to find a letter, addressed to me, from one Sherlock Holmes. He was playing violin when I picked up the other letters, bills mainly. I recognised his handwriting straight away. Sherlock was obviously watching my reaction, even if he believed he was being discrete, I could see the glances he was sending me. Deciding it would be best to entertain the Detective; I gave the letter a once over before walking into the bedroom, sitting on the bed, and opening it.

_Dear John,_

_Although I am accustomed to writing letters, never before have I seen much use in writing one for you. As we live together, work together and generally spend most of our time within each other's sights, a letter would seem obsolete. In further consideration, though, it occurred to me that sentimental value is often invested in objects such as letters. Furthermore words upon paper more than often sound better than word of mouth._

_By this point there is little that I feel I could not say to your face. Although (understanding how you think) I see the appeal of an item that can be preserved containing thoughts and emotions. I assume you are wondering what spurred this action, and in honesty, nothing. Since we have been "an item" I have found that you take up a lot of my free thinking time, and for this I am grateful. Your appreciation of this letter would be received with gratitude._

_John, I love you. Personally I believe that the phrase is demeaning, as it does not cover how I feel, love is not a strong enough word. Love has never been an emotion I could express well, which is probably why the word does not seem to fit now. Love is an emotion felt by the heart, but I do not feel this from my heart, as you are the organ itself. Where I once felt hollow and unfulfilled you stepped in, bringing with you toleration and patience as well as care and understanding. I need you to know how much you mean to me, and that if anything ever happened to you, what an effect it would have. It pains me to think that at one point in time you ever felt alone. You will never be alone again, not as long as I live, and – as we have seen – not even that can keep me away from you._

_Mr Watson, you are my heart. You are such an unimportant person. Someone that is greatly undervalued and amazing beyond comprehension. You cannot be put into words but I believe it is best to try anyway, to try and get across that you should never feel insignificant. Ever. John, I hope that this will suffice to convince you that you are a truly beautiful human._

_All of my love and adoration for always,_

_Sherlock. _

Well... I was kind of shocked at the gas bill but that tops everything.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

I did not expect a response from John. My letter, if it could be classed as that, was simply to express the fact that he is constantly in my thoughts. To assure him that he is my one priority. Whereas I left my writing amongst the other letters, John decided a better place to put his would be in my dressing gown pocket.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_Of course I appreciated your letter. It was unnecessary though. I know how much you care for me, and I am well aware that you love me. The fact that you took it into your thoughts to do something like that though just proves that I am right about you anyway. Now it's my turn for guessing, you didn't expect a letter back, did you? No. Well obviously I HAD to write one because yours was so lovely it would just be rude of me not to. I warn you though, I am nowhere near as good as you with formal writing. You've read my blog – and I know you disapprove of my writing style, but if you want a bloody letter you can read my writing and not moan to me because I won't be there when you read it anyway._

_Sherlock, I love you. I do mean that in the common sense of the word, but that doesn't mean it means any less to me. Before you I was only ever attracted to women, and then you came into my life, and I suddenly realised that my whole life was missing something huge. I wouldn't be gay for anyone else, simply put. I'm not gay. I'm Sher-locked (I know you loved that password really). I wouldn't have it any other way either. I need you to understand that if anything happened to you it'd hurt more than I'd like to consider. Life without you is too depressing to think about, so I try not to. I plan on growing old with you anyway, that bee idea isn't so bad. I couldn't be more happy that you want to stay here with me, because there's no-one else I'd rather be with. It enrages me whenever people think that you are inhumane or freakish, as misunderstood has never applied to a human more than it has to you, all is needed to see that you are phenomenal and just brilliant is five minutes of persistence and conversation. _

_Sherlock you are my life. You are the adrenaline and blood that pumps through my veins and keeps me going. You are such a unique man that I often wonder how the hell I managed to interest someone of your intelligence. Brilliant doesn't cover it. I probably shouldn't be feeding your ego this way but I still do feel as if I need to make up for every person that has ever said anything negative about you, as they are impossibly wrong. _

_All of my love and understanding for as long as we live,_

_John xx_

...Hmm.

* * *

Later that day when I next saw John he was in his chair. I leant over from above him, and kissed him upside down.

"...What was that for?" He smiled.

I smirked "No reason at all."


	18. Snowball

Hiiii, yeah, sorry; I think you've probably all accepted that my updates are slow now :/ I'd update more if I could but it's hard to fit everything in. Anywho, this was a prompt from Ellcrys so here you go Ell :) x

* * *

**Snowballs**

At Christmas time, children - wherever there is snow – will use the soft substance to create relatively safe weapons to throw at people. It's just a part of the season' like building snowmen. Nobody said this was strictly a child's activity, though.

* * *

_**John**_

Sherlock and I left the yard and began trekking through the snow, the winter winds biting at our skin. I shivered slightly and Sherlock slipped his hand into my gloved one.

"Want to get a taxi?" He asked.

"No," I replied through chatting teeth "I like walking in the snow."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. "It certainly looks like it."

I laughed and poked him in the leg. "Shut up. I do, it's just cold."

"Try and warm up then." He grinned and ran off through the snow fall.

"Sherlock!" I shouted after him. In a few moments I realised that I might as well follow him, so began chasing him. "Sherlock you're going to slip!"

"No I am not!" He giggled, turning a corner and out of sight. By the time I'd rounded the corner too, I couldn't see him. I was looking down some kind of cul-de-sac, but Sherlock was nowhere to be seen; instinctively I went into tracking mode to try and hunt him down.

"...'Lock?" I called. I must've taken a wrong turn. Eurgh, at least I was warm now. Suddenly I felt a sharp sting of cold on the back of my neck, swivelling around, I saw Sherlock peering out from behind an electricity box; a look of pure ecstasy on his face. I put my hand on the back of my neck, it was wet with melted snow.

"Hello, John." He purred, straightening himself up from his crouching position.

"You threw a snowball at me!" I glared.

"...Maybe." Sherlock smirked, a playful twinkle in his eye.

I shook my head. "Wrong move, soldier, launching an attack on Captain Watson."

"Is this war, then?" He chuckled, launching another snowball.

This time I ducked, the snow zooming over my head. "Right, get here!" Quickly I stooped down and scooped up some snow, rolling it into a slap-dash snowball, throwing it back. Surprisingly, it connected with his ear. Sherlock looked as shocked as I did.

"John!" He gasped. I merely stuck my tongue out as a response. Sherlock's expression changed to one of determination and I abruptly round him charging at me, stunned – I didn't move. Sherlock was swiftly upon me, his arm round my chest, his other arm grabbing some snow and dropping it down the back of my jumper.

"Sherlock!" I shivered, turning myself around in his grasp, so I could glare eye-to-eye. He smiled back and kissed my presumably red nose. I smiled back, resting my head on his chest... before squirming away from him, grabbing some snow, and dropping it down his shirt. Sherlock reacted promptly, reaching to grab my arm, but I moved. I felt him grab onto me as suddenly Sherlock was slipping on the ice and pulling me down with him, we both let out startled cries as we hit the ground with a soft thud.

I raised my head, eye level with Sherlock. "Idiot."

He laughed. "That was unexpected. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, are you? I'm kind of squishing you."

"It's okay, I'm fine." Sherlock moved slightly, unable to go far with my frame on top of him."Well, this is cosy..."

"Why yes, it most definitely is." I giggled and kissed him. Sherlock was in the process of kissing me back, when an old woman's head appeared over a hedge in the front garden we were lying in front of. The look on her face definitely said "I have just witnessed two men kissing in the snow on the floor in front of my house". I swallowed nervously.

"...Goodmorning." Sherlock said.

The woman nodded a response, before shuffling away. I looked back down at Sherlock, who was biting his lips together to stop his laugh escaping. I felt myself blushing.

"No more snowball fights." I concluded.

He laughed. "No promises."


	19. Comet

Hellooooo, sorry (as always) but this time you can't be mad at me because I had an operation and have been recovering. Mwahaha take that anger! Anyway, this time I just used a creative word generator so... this is the outcome. Still feel free to leave suggestions :) Thanks my little Shirelings x

* * *

**Comet**

Not many people get to see comets, as they are obviously rare. The number visible to the naked eye averages roughly one per year, though many of these are unspectacular. Particularly bright or notable examples are called Great Comets. Telescopes can help how many are seen, but when they can be seen without aid it is all the more beautiful.

* * *

_**John**_

"Sherlock!" I called.

I was answered by silence.

"Sherlock!" I tried again. I sighed and began accepting that my partner wasn't coming.

At that moment Sherlock stumbled through into the living room, his hair unruly and eyes slightly unfocused. "What?! Are you... is...?" I noticed the gun he held loosely in his hand.

"I'm fine, are you? Sorry, this wasn't urgent." I smiled guiltily.

"Oh, it's okay." He rubbed his face sleepily before sitting himself down next to me on the sofa. "What did you want?"

I began absent mindedly stroking his hair. "Oh, I was just reading on the laptop and we can see a comet tonight." I grinned excitedly. "...Were you sleeping?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, I think I might have passed out from chemical fumes though. Comets sound nice."

I sighed. "You have to stop doing that, but yeah... comets!"

Sherlock didn't look as if he was registering what I was saying. "Okay, very nice." He mumbled before nuzzling into my hand and curling up.

Sherlock really needed an astronomy lesson.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

I awoke on the sofa, my previous source of warmth nowhere to be found. The clock said it was nearly seven PM, meaning I had been asleep for at least five hours, the longest sleep I can recall in a while. Where John was, I could not say, but his absence was noticed.

"John!" I shouted. He did not respond.

I got up and began my hunt; working my way around the flat until I could find him. Within five minutes I had checked everywhere and confirmed that he was in fact, not in the house. Therefore buying milk, or jam, or something of the sort.

A voice suddenly pierced my thoughts. "Sherlock you daft sod I'm up here."

I looked upwards. "What?"

John appeared at the doorway to our flat. "_Up here_ as in outside our flat and then upwards." Before I could respond he'd disappeared back outside the door and upwards, I could just see his feet clambering up the ladder that led to the roof. I grabbed my coat and followed him upwards, eager to see what had gotten him so excited as to brave our rooftop. "Ta-da!" He cried, swirling around to face me.

He had placed a telescope on the roof, along with a blanket with various items placed on it. "We can see the comets properly now 'Lock."

"I still don't actually know what a comet is, Dear..." I smiled back at him, wandering out onto the roof.

"Well come and have a look then, it's about to start!" He squealed. Walking over I could see what he was talking about, there were faint lights in the sky. "Come on! Look!"

"You look John, I can see fine from here." I answered. John responded by standing away from the telescope and near enough shoving me onto it. Looking through it, I could see the comets better. They were, admittedly, beautiful. Knowing how much this meant to John I appreciated them for a few more moments before stepping away to allow him to use the telescope again. "They're beautiful." I commented, setting myself down on the blanket and beginning to nibble at the popcorn he had placed out in a bowl. John continued watching the display closely, I watched with vague interest, mainly eating popcorn. It was simply nice to see him so happy. So for the rest of the comet's display, I ate popcorn, and watched John. Sometimes, the best things to look at are the marvels right in front of our eyes.

* * *

I apologise for the cheesy-ness but sometimes I can't help myself and I'm in pain and aghhhhhhhh internet help me


	20. Follow (me)

It's STORY TIME

HOPE YOU ALL HAD A GREAT CHRISTMAS

Firstly, to you lovely people that follow, favourite or review. I love you! Well even if you've read something of mine I still think you're great, it's all wonderful to me. So thank you very much everyone because I would have stopped writing ages ago if it weren't for you. :)

Also, Dark Moons, I am getting around to your prompt – I promise ;)

This one is technically a song fic I suppose, but I'm just interpreting the lyrics and they remind me of our favourite Detective couple. Yeah, I do like Muse though.

* * *

**Follow (me)**

When you think about it, life is but a series of following and leading.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

"Stay here, John!" I cried as I rounded the next sharp bend in the path, my footing slipping for only a moment before I regained my composure and continued running.

"Not bloody likely mate!" He shouted back as I heard his feet pound after me.

"John! Now is not the time! Go!" My throat hurt as I yelled back at my partner, but his step did not falter.

I heard him panting. "I'm not leaving you, Sherlock!"

"And look what happened you didn't last time, John!" I bellowed, finally pivoting round to meet his gaze. John stumbled slightly at my abrupt stop and grabbed onto my lapels to stop himself falling over.

"Accidents happen…" He mumbled, searching my own eyes with his deep blue ones.

"No! Mistakes happen! You nearly died!"

"You saved me and you would have died if it weren't for me." His voice was full of sadness, and it stung.

I suppressed my own sadness and tried to avoid meeting his eye line. "This is dangerous, where we're going. You could get hurt, I won't risk it!"

"It's not your decision what risks I make! You're making the same ones!" He fumed.

"Yes but it doesn't matter if I make them because you're the only person that would care a bit if I got hurt and you could find someone else but if you got hurt then everyone would care and I wouldn't be able to consider life without you and I'd probably kill myself so if you get killed we both die where as if I get killed I just die!" I fumed, not really realizing what I had said until the words had left my mouth.

His face twisted between shock, sadness and anger. Using this to my advantage, I quickly kissed him before turning around and continuing my run.

The darkness around suddenly became much more sinister and somehow darker, it's ominous connotations becoming more apparent. The only sounds was the thrumming of my own heart beat and the slam of my feet on the concrete.

_When darkness falls__  
__And surrounds you__  
__When you fall down__  
__When you're scared__  
__And you're lost, be brave__  
__I'm coming to hold you now__  
__When all your strength has gone__  
__And you feel wrong__  
__Like your life has slipped away_

* * *

_**John**_

Sherlock had… what had he even just said? Where had he run off to? I just followed him really, like I always do, I just follow him. He might not know that he needs me because he never pays enough attention, but he'd forget to put his shoes on if I wasn't there. I sighed, but he had already gone. His much longer legs swishing away before I could even dream of catching up. Now he was gone, and I had no idea where. That didn't mean that I was going to stop looking for him. I'd look until I found him. Even if he doesn't want my protection – he's having it.

_Follow me__  
__You can follow me__  
__And I will not desert you now__  
__When your fire's died out__  
__No one's there__  
__They have left you for dead__Follow me__  
__You can follow me__  
__I will keep you safe__  
__Follow me__  
__You can follow me__  
__I will protect you_

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

Well that didn't... that didn't go to plan...

I looked around the room I was currently in, the darkness made it hard to differentiate between the walking figures – as well as the fact that I had clearly sustained a head injury recently. One of the men turned around at the noise I was apparently making and I got a good look at him.

"Ah, Sherlock Holmes..." He began

"Mr Johnson." I croaked back.

The man looked startled before his composure returned. "I knew you were good. It won't do you any good though, knowing who I am. We have you now. Try not to worry however, we don't wish you any harm."

"The dull pain in the back of my head suggests otherwise." I grunted, the man smirked an amused smile.

"That was unfortunate, but it was the only good way to get you here without too much trouble and without killing you." He stated.

I looked him up and down, before looking at the other two men in the corner of the room. I fidgeted against the bonds I could feel restraining me to the chair.

"So... you're holding me to ransom then." I concluded.

"Yes. Your fame is your downfall, Sherlock, your 'flatmate' will obviously pay for your release. A lot of people would. He's got..." At this the man paused and briefly glanced at the watch around his wrist. "Another few hours before the payment is due."

My eyebrow rose. "What happens if he doesn't pay?"

"We send you home. In pieces." A mischievous grin spread across the man's face.

* * *

_**John**_

I looked at the ransom note in my hand, Lestrade peered over my shoulder and re-read it.

"_This _is what happens when he runs off, this right here, he gets kidnapped and there was no-one else there to protect him." Lestrade grumbled.

"Alone protects him..." I muttered, the ghost of a memory resurfacing at the DI's words. Luckily, he didn't hear.

Greg was still pacing the room, he scratched the back of his head. "Right. We get the money and pay them off then?"

"Of course." I replied quickly. "Before he's hurt. We can always ask Mycroft for the money. Sherlock's going to be annoyed though."

I heard Lestrade sigh. "I know, we've been after these flaming thugs for months now. There's no way we can catch them after this. They'll set up precautions and bargain to ensure we can't track them."

I grimaced. "That'll annoy Sherlock too."

"Hm." There was a moment of silence and the sound of the clock ticking echoed about the room in Scotland Yard, the sound of time running out.

"I'm calling Mycroft." I uttered hastily before grabbing my phone to call my usual abductor.

Mycroft looked out of place here, in the Yard. His humourless expression all the more grimmer from the current circumstances.

"Do they want the money posted? What is the address?" He queried.

"No, they want me to hand deliver it." I started and Mycroft looked about to interject. "They said if I bring anyone else they'll kill Sherlock."

His mouth tightened into a thin line again.

"Hang on, mate, we never said we were following that rule." Lestrade piped up.

"Yes we are, they'll kill him if I bring anyone so I'm going alone, this is not debatable." I argued.

"In all due respect Lestrade, it is a better idea to send John alone than to risk Sherlock's life." Mycroft agreed.

"In all due respect Mycroft, you haven't been working this case! I have! I know for a fact that these men are most likely going to take the money, kill John and then kill Sherlock anyway!" Lestrade flustered, going into some kind of standoff with Mycroft.

"'Most likely' is not worth getting Sherlock murdered!" He retorted, his normally blank face becoming tainted with anger.

Lestrade got closer, not being intimidated by the man's height. "Don't pretend you care now! I know how you two work! Both of them are going to die if we don't take some kind of action!"

"I'm doing my best to keep Sherlock safe but when you are also trying to keep John safe neither of them are going to be safe!" Mycroft angrily babbled. I realised that this was going nowhere with those two fighting like parents, I didn't have the patience for it. This was not a strategy situation, all that mattered was getting Sherlock back. _My _Sherlock. They don't understand. He thinks nobody cares, he thinks that if he went the world would keep on revolving. It wouldn't. Not for me at least. Mycroft has placed the envelope with the money in on the desk, so I picked it up and left, the last thing I saw was the DI and the elder Holmes bickering.

_Follow me__  
__You can follow me__  
__I will keep you safe__  
__Follow me__  
__You can follow me__  
__I will protect you_

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

This was becoming tedious. I had already deduced all three men (one of which used to be a woman, how strange) and thought over their whole plan. Dull. At this moment I imagine Mycroft somewhere setting up some bank account to transfer over money. The only other thing I had left to think about was my conversation with John; in fairness I probably shouldn't have shouted at him, but it succeeded in keeping him away from harm. I do hope my outburst didn't upset him though.

It was about this moment that a certain Army Doctor kicked the doors in.

A certain Army Doctor with a certain Army issue revolver.

The room was stunned into silence.

"Firstly, _never_ take a Soldier's boyfriend. Secondly, _never _threaten the aforementioned boyfriend's life in a shitty ransom note that you put your bloody address on! And finally, _never_ position yourself in a building with more than one entrance. Seriously, this is all basic stuff, why is everyone making it complicated?!" He rambled, I had a strong suspicion that he had indeed gone mad.

By this point the other three men in the room had drawn their weapons and pointed them at John, my adrenalin kicked in. The first blow went to the man closest to me, I lashed out with my foot (the idiots hadn't restrained my legs) and sent him down. In the confusion John had a chance to fire a bullet into the foot of the other man before punching him in the face, ending his consciousness. The one man left standing brought up his gun to shoot but John kneed him in the stomach before he had chance, following up by bringing his elbow down on the back of the man's head and sending him into comatose.

"John..." I gasped. "He used to be a woman and you hit him!"

"Not now Sherlock!" He replied, delivering a final kick in the head to the man I had hit, rendering all of the people in the room except he and I unconscious.

An unnatural silence fell over the room as John panted to regain his breath and I sat unknowing of what to say. As I was about to speak John broke the quiet.

"Sherlock, don't you _ever_ run away from me again, right? Because don't think I'm joking when I tell you that if you got killed I wouldn't be able to live without you either, I couldn't move on, not from you. I need you like I need air. The thought alone is sickening enough, I don't know what I'd do if you actually died. So under no circumstances do you do something as bloody stupid as this ever again because you want to keep me safe, are we clear on that?" By this point he had crouched down to eyelevel with me, and his hands were resting on my knees.

"...Yes."

"Good." He got up and began undoing me hands before tending to the back of my head; as I felt him begin to patch me up I took a sweeping look over the room, all of these dangerous people had been quickly taken care of by just one man – the same man who was now helping me recover. It was probably very stupid of me earlier to think I could do everything by myself when John's so good at helping me. I probably would be dead if it were not for him. Certainly a lot less happier. Without him, the best I could hope for would to be just dead on the inside rather than on the outside too.

_I won't let them hurt__  
__They're hurting you, no__  
__Oh yeah__  
__When your heart is breaking_

_You can follow me__  
__You can follow me__  
__I will always keep you safe__  
__Follow me__  
__You can trust in me__  
__I will always protect you, my love__  
__Feel my love__  
_**_Feel my love_**

* * *

Gahhhh sorry folks, even I don't like this one at all. I'm in a weird mood and it's past 3AM. Do forgive me.

**IMPORTANT: **Just wanted to say that I'm looking for some new RP writers to work with if anyone's interested :D Honestly, my writing's always better when there's someone else for inspiration. Message me for details or check my profile for more ways to contact me. It'd really be nice to write with some new people, not just on Sherlock Fan-Fiction either.


	21. Haircut

Doo doo doo doo doooooo.

It's 2:32 AM in the house of Ginger-Jones-Holmes.

And she is currently Fan-Girling hard because she loves her viewers/followers/favourit-ers/reviewers so much she has to scream (although quietly because for some reason everyone else is sleeping, the weirdo's).

Right I'm doing that prompt I promised Dark Moons (because I'm a good li'l writer that doesn't lie to her readers) so here you go lovelies :D

" haircuts. John gives Sherlock a haircut(: he he he "

* * *

**Haircuts**

Nobody likes haircuts, not really, anyway.

* * *

_**John**_

Sherlock's hair was long. No, okay, it's _always _long; but this was ridiculous. His fringe constantly swept in front of his eyes, and he had some kind of mini-fit trying to bat it away again before it made him do something wrong. Yesterday his experiment went wrong because as he was measuring out the acid and a few black curls swished down and poked him in the eye. It was hilarious. I didn't tell him that obviously, he went ballistic because apparently the whole thing was ruined. He won't admit that he needs a haircut though, I don't know why, he's just being stubborn. I sighed as I began clearing up the front room, bits of paper and generic lint littered the floor – as per usual. The familiar footsteps from the Detective could be heard pounding up the stairs, swiftly followed by an excited cry of "John!", the slam of the door being thrown open and the shout of "We have a case bec-"

I never heard the rest of the sentence.

Instead, there was a dull thud, a squeal of pain and moan of annoyance.

"...Sherlock?" I asked, turning around from my cleaning.

"John..." The Detective groaned from the floor. "I ran into the door frame."

I blinked in confusion, trying to adapt to what had just happened. "Yeah... you did. Any particular reason why?" I questioned him before setting down the polish and kneeling next to him, gently lifting him into a sitting position.

"I didn't see it, obviously." He scowled at me, only it wasn't much of a scowl, as most of his eyes were covered by his hair.

"Sherlock," I sighed "by any chance is this related to your hair length."

"No." He pouted instantly.

"So... the direct correlation between the amount of accidents you have and the length of your hair is coincidence?" I reasoned.

He pouted more. "Don't try and... science, me, John!"

I laughed in response. "You know it's true."

"But John, I hate having my hair cut." He stropped.

"I don't care, you're injuring yourself. Honestly, I've never seen a grown man act more like a petulant child." I scolded him jokingly, the whole time brushing against his head softly.

"I am not! I refuse to go to the hairdressers!" Sherlock stated back.

I stroked the curls away and looked at the head bump, it was nothing serious. "Okay... you'll have to let me do it then."

"Yes, fine, just get it done already so I can get back to work!" He replied testily, I simply laughed and pulled him to his feet. He was undeniably amusing when he got tetchy.

A short while later I had finally managed to get Sherlock to sit still in a kitchen chair, he had a towel wrapped around his shoulders and I was holding the scissors. His hair was damp from when I'd made him shower before the hair cut.

"You ready?" I asked.

"Hm." He grunted back.

"_Yes John, of course I'm ready, I'm so lucky to have a nice boyfriend like you to do these things for me even when I'm being an arse_." I mocked back, combing though his hair. I saw a slight smirk appear on the Detective's face. "Is that a smile, 'Lock?" I giggled, taking the first snip at his hair.

"No, shove off." He laughed.

"What? And leave your hair as a health hazard? Un-bloody-likely mate, the hair's coming off and it's coming off now." I took a few more careful cuts.

Slight panic crept into the man's voice. "Not too short, John, I don't like it short."

"I know you don't, don't worry, I'm just trimming it so you don't look like a shaggy dog." I told him as I worked my way through the layers, snipping away the ridiculously long curls.

"A shaggy _hound_, John." He chuckled.

"Shut up, stop distracting me... unless you want a Mohican or something." I snipped the scissors loudly by his ear as a threat.

"No! I would burn your favourite jumper if you did that." He retorted.

I laughed at his warning as I trimmed. "Whatever, my favourite jumper is the one you made me, you wouldn't destroy your own work."

"...Is it?" He seemed caught slightly off guard.

"Yeah, of course it is." Honestly, he has a massive ego, but sometimes his modesty can be so naive.

"Oh..." He stopped speaking after that, choosing instead to sit in silence with a silly smug smile on his face as I completed cutting his hair. Afterwards he showered again before blow drying it, spending far too long on ensuring it all dried "properly".

"Do you like it then?" I asked when he'd finally finished faffing over it. "Surprised I haven't made you a monstrosity to witness?"

"Yes... you've done a good job." He smiled as he turned around to face me. "Now we can go on that case I was telling you about!" His smile spread into a grin as he grabbed my hand and began his run out of the apartment. "Oh and John," he started, pausing to lean down and kiss me. "thank you for fixing my hair so I'm safer." Before I could say anything in return he was already charging full pelt out of the apartment, fingers locked into mine, pulling me in tow.

* * *

So... there you have it.  
Also thank you to those who took me up on my RP offer, but that's always open, I LOVE WRITING.  
Okay, I'm breathing. Still. Okay calm.  
By the way this was finished at ten past four... I really procrastinated a lot.  
Reviews and prompts welcome Dears! :D


	22. Curl

*hides from angry readers*

I'm sorry...

THERE'S JUST BEEN SO MUCH SHIT ON I DIDN'T HAVE TIME OR MOTIVATION OR TIME OR EFFORT OR ANYTHING AND I COULDN'T WRITE THERE WAS NOTHING TO WRITE IT IS ALL BAD AND NOW IT FEELS FORCED AND UNCOMFORTABLE BUT I WANT TO STILL IF THAT MAKES SENSE I'M SORRY THANKS TO THOSE WHO ARE STILL READING FOR SOME REASON.

Warnings: Swearing, briefly.

* * *

**Curl**

_There was a little girl, who had a little curl, right in the middle of her forehead._

_When she was good she was very good indeed but when she was bad she was horrid._

* * *

_**Narrative**_

"There was a little girl..."

"John, stop."

"Who had a little curl..."

"For God's sake, John, stop the incessant singing."

"Ri~ght in the middle of her forehead..." John cooed, twirling a curl that was resting in the middle of Sherlock's forehead.

"I swear to G-"

John continued regardless, petting the curl repeatedly "And when she was good she was very good indeed..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"But when she was bad she was horrid." He concluded, poking Sherlock on the nose.

"If you keep doing that every time I sit down next to you, I'm going to stop sitting here. I'm not even a girl, in case you hadn't noticed."

"No you won't." The Doctor retorted to the man laying in his lap. "You like the fuss too much."

Sherlock scowled. "...Shut up."

* * *

Sherlock padded to the bedroom, he had been waiting for John to return to the living room for what must have been around forty minutes now. Sherlock had even been reduced to fetching his own pen. Now he was in the mood for some tea; as well as an explanation.

"John?!" He called as he climbed up the stairs.

There was no reply. The Detective let out a sigh and trudged up a few more steps, opening the door to their now shared room. As he was about to say something else Sherlock spotted his partner. Asleep. A small smile spread across his lips as he looked at the man; he was not in his usual sleeping position, but curled up at the foot of the bed in a little ball.

"Hedgehog..." Sherlock chuckled quietly to himself before walking over to the bed. He shifted their two bears slightly out of the way to take a seat next to John, watching the man snooze peacefully. He had forgotten what he actually came in to ask. Instead, he chose to pat the sleeping man's head gently. John began to stir and his eyes lazily opened, staring confusedly at the man above him, watching him.

"...'Lock?" He asked croakily.

Sherlock smiled lovingly. "Yes, John?"

"...S'fucking creepy when you wake me up like that." He squinted.

Sherlock's smile fell as he evaluated the disgruntled face of his other half... before both men broke out into laughter.

* * *

I'm sorry, I have no idea what I'm doing.

I'll go sit in the corner now.

But hey, if you want to know what's happening or whatever just follow me on Twitter. Either: Hedgy_Sidekick (I write on this one so it makes sense) or Jones_Holmes101 (my personal but I'm on it all the time so it'll get updated regularly). Seriously, just message me saying "Oi you little bitch fucking update your FanFiction page" and I will. Internet people can be scary.


	23. Comfort

I would apologise but I think it's beyond that now :(

I tried my bestest, and this was a prompt from... GUEST

* * *

**Comfort**

We find it in friends. We find it in family. We even find it in objects, smells, sights; anything that can relax the human mind.

Unfortunately, for some people this included drugs.

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

Time: 3:56.

Date: Irrelevant.

Amount of cases: None.

Status: _Bored._

"John?" I asked impatiently, yet the question portrayed itself more like a whine.

I cleared my throat and tried again. "John?!"

...Oh.

John: Work.

Mrs Hudson: Out. It's Wednesday. She's shopping. Left approximately 43 minutes ago. Shan't be back for another 72 at least.

Ah, so boredom was allowed to settle like a thick coat of dust over my mind, dirtying the Mind Palace mercilessly. I felt my finger twitch.

Twitch.

Twitch.

Incessant tapping on the arm of my chair. The twitching and tapping of an under stimulated mind. _Stimulated. Stimulant. _Oh. How long it had been since the forbidden rush of heroin through my veins. But no. Especially after Lestrade's drug busts, drugs were completely out of the question. It'd kill John. Burn him from the inside if he knew that I had turned to drugs before him. I wouldn't do that to him, ne-

Twitch.

_Stop_. I glared at the moving digit. _Stop before I amputate you._

However, it continued, seemingly determined to drive me insane.

That's when the headache started.

It cut the twitching short with furious poundings on the inside of my skull. Like a demon trying to break free from the restraints of Hell. Like a psychopath slamming his fists into the prison cell wall. Like an addiction tearing apart will-power with all the fury of a woman.

* * *

_**John**_

I nudged the door open with my foot and plodded into the kitchen, noting Sherlock's usual steepled finger position in his favourite chair.

"Honey, I'm Holmes." I cooed at him with a chuckle. Third time this week I'd said that. Still priceless, I know it. But Sherlock didn't reply. Not even a tut of distaste from the quiet sod, still, he always got like this when he was in his mind palace.

"'How was work John?' Oh well actually 'Lock it was a bit bad, this old lady came in with a bladder infection and it wasn't exactly a picnic diagnosing that. How was your day, Sherlock? 'Well it was alright. I sat around waiting for Greg to text and _still _didn't do the washing up like you asked. I think all I did was swish my sexy mane of hair around when I know you can't appreciate it.'" I rambled on and impersonated him perfectly.

Still, no movement. So after I put away the few bits of shopping I had bought, I decided to poke the man in the head gently. "Earth to Detective? Doctor is home. Doctor wants to know what you would like for dinner, as well as possibly a kiss if said Detective wouldn't mind."

He breathed heavily. Growing concerned, I lifted his chin gently and looked into his pale eyes. They were glazed over and his eyelids fluttered slightly. There was a thin film of sweat on his forehead. I panicked at his obvious distress, shaking his shoulders quickly. "Sherlock!"

The man looked up at me as he sighed heavily. "I want..."

"What? What do you want?" My brows knitted together.

"I _want, _John, _want._" He choked back.

_Want._ When he _wanted _he was either unbearably horny or craving stimulants like drugs or cigarettes. It was obvious which one he meant at this point in time.

"Come on, baby." At any other time he would have grimaced at the nick name, but in his current state allowed himself to be scooped up into my arms and then held in my lap as I sat in his chair. As I had done many times, I gently rocked the curled up gangly figure in a slow rhythm. Petting his hair in my best attempt to be comforting. Slowly, his tense expression relaxed until his features returned to their normal conveyance of a man deep in thought. I still refused to let him go, continuing to rock him like a child. I waited for him to protest, but he didn't.

"John." Sherlock cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Yeah?" I mumbled back, my face still buried in his curls.

I heard him inhale deeply. "...Thank you."

"S'alright." I couldn't help but smirk, allowing myself a small victory on the development of his manners, before rocking him backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards.

* * *

Well... that ending could be interpreted quite psychotically.


	24. Hedgehog

Heeeeey, you guys are still here, hello! Well then. I should probably be revising for all my important exams next week but... erm... gay OTP FanFiction happened and I'm not even sorry.

This prompt word is "hedgehog" (come on now, we all saw it coming) submitted by Valentine.

* * *

**Hedgehog**

* * *

_**Sherlock**_

I walked quickly away from Scotland Yard, looking for a cab to hail. I heard John's soft footsteps plodding along behind me at a slightly faster pace than mine. My eyes trailed across the road, taking in the passing cars, when something else caught my eye.

_Oh._

Road kill. A Hedgehog, to be specific. Splattered along the roadside, distinctly dismembered. I was on the verge of audibly describing the anatomical parts on show when I heard John let out a gasp of what was (presumably) upset.

"_That_ is just unnecessary. Fucking London. Fucking traffic. No bloody time to just _slow down_ in case, you know, living things are walking there too!" He huffed as he came into my line of sight, his lips pressed into a thin line and his brow furrowed.

"...It's too late to help it now, however, John." I replied.

"I know." He sighed. "I can still get annoyed at the fact that people are too bloody _busy _to stop killing things."

I pursed my lips. John was annoyed. Reasonably so. An angry Doctor Watson was not easy to communicate with. "Perhaps we should just go home."

John didn't respond for a moment, too fixated with the road kill. "Yeah. Fine." He eventually agreed before following me as I called over a cab. He was still annoyed. _Brilliant._

* * *

_**John**_

Surprised. Yeah, that covers it. Surprised. Living with Sherlock, you learn to expect the unexpected. The jar of pickled toes in your underwear draw. The bottles of acid stored right in with the shower gels. Burnt limbs on the curtain rail. Needless to say, surprising me has become quite the challenge.

But when Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock _bloody _Holmes turns up one evening, after a suspicious trip to the shops (seriously, I knew he was lying, I doubt he even knows what kind of milk we have) carrying a baby Hedgehog; even I was beyond words.

"...What's that?" I simply asked him.

"This?" He looked down to the box in his arms. "A hedgehog, John. Don't be dense." The man huffed as he walked over to the kitchen table and placed the box down, beginning to sort out the bedding inside it.

"I can see that." I replied, calmly. "_Why _are you carrying a hedgehog?"

"Oh. Well. That dead one the other day, it upset you, didn't it? Well, here's a baby one... it's not dead." He frowned slightly as he tried to form an explanation, but soon busied himself with scooping up the small creature and carrying him over to me. "Look."

I took the hedgehog from him carefully, the animal in question promptly bristled up in my palms, meaning I had to hold out my hands flat to avoid the spines.

"The tedious man in the shop warned that he may be hostile to begin with, I'm not entirely sure, I wasn't listening. Did Lestrade text you whilst I was gone? I need a pen..." He continued as he wandered back off to his equipment covered table – leaving me holding a baby hedgehog and having no idea what to do with it.

"No... Lestrade didn't... has the hedgehog got a name?" I called out to him. The hedgehog in question sniffed my palm and snuffled around, seemingly concluding that I was no threat, his bristles softened.

"What? Name? No. Not now John! He's your present, you name him." He retorted with a slight huff before throwing a ladle at the microwave. I decided to look away - Sherlock's experiments were not for me to meddle in. My eyes travelled back downwards towards the tiny adorable hedgehog, I couldn't help but grin.

"Hello little one. Aren't you cute? Yeah? Hmm. I know what I'm going to call you." I petted his head gingerly with a chuckle. "David the hedgehog it is."

Sherlock's head appeared from the kitchen. "David?"

I laughed in surprise at his sudden appearance. "Guess who after."

He rolled his eyes, not very amused. "That Doctor fellow, correct?"

"Yup." I chirped back. "The Doctor, tenth regeneration, that actor."

I saw a smirk play on the corners of Sherlock's lips before he returned to his station. Without much hesitation I got up and walked into the kitchen, shielding David from any possible hazards Sherlock may be brewing. He was leaning over his microscope, hair everywhere, with that half determined half tired look he gets.

"'Lock?"

"Hm?" He looked up from his microscope quickly.

"Thank you." I grinned at him and pecked his lips before he had a chance to say anything.

He blinked back at me, obviously weary. "Oh. You're welcome."

I couldn't help but beam at his sleepy smile as I placed David into his bedding, still petting him. "When did you last sleep?"

"I'm not sure." He confessed. "A few hours last night. Definitely, however-" he loosely gestured to the various bits of equipment strewn across the table top. "this required my attention."

"Sherlock..." I sighed. "Come to bed. Now please."

He looked as if he would protest, but cast his eyes over me and David before nodding slowly.

"Thanks love." I took his hand and in the other carried David's box, leading the pair of them to the bedroom. Once inside I placed David's box by our bed and got changed into my pyjama bottoms, Sherlock simply kicked off his shoes and blazer and flopped onto the bed. He pouted up at me childishly when I looked over to him.

"John. Cold."

I rolled my eyes at him but couldn't suppress the smile that formed as I did so, and climbed into bed next to him. Instinctively I pulled him closer to me under the covers, the taller man resting his head above mine and petting my hair.

"Night Sherlock."

"Goodnight John." I heard him mumble.

"...Night David."

David squeaked.

* * *

Righty-o. I think my plan now is to write something angst-y, and some serious crack fluff. I'm just not sure in which order.


End file.
